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DE   QUINCETS   WRITINGS. 


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LITEEARY  REMINISCENCES ; 


FROM 


THE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    AN    ENGLISH    OPIUM-EATER. 


BY 


THOMAS    DE    QUINCEY. 


IN    TWO    VOLUMES. 

VOL.  II. 


BOSTON: 
TICKNOR,    REED,    AND    FIELDS, 

MDCCCLIV. 


148913 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1853,  by 
TICKNOR,    REED,   AND   FIELDS, 
lu  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


IHCRSTON,  TORRY,  AND   EMERSON,  PRISTEBS. 


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CONTENTS. 

XIII.  WORDSWORTH  AND  SOUTHEY       .'.....    9 

XIV.  SOUTHEY,  WORDSWORTH,  AND  COLERIDGE  .  46 
XV.    RECOLLECTIONS  OF  GRASMERE    .    .         .  .  61 

XVI.    THE  SARACEN'S  HEAD 102 

XVn.    SOCIETY  OF  THE  LAKES 116 

O    XVIIL    CHARLES  LLOYD 141 

.-^        XIX.     SOCIETY  OF  THE  LAKES 168 

Q(         XX.            "               "               «'          .......  203 

XXI.    WALKING  STEWART.  — EDWARD  IRVING.— 

WILLIAM  WORDSWORTH 229 

XXII.    TALFOURD.  —  THE    LONDON    MAGAZINE.  — 

JUNIUS.  —  CLARE.  —  CUNNINGHAM     .     .  256 
XXIII.    LIBELLOUS  ATTACK  BY  A  LONDON  JOUR- 
NAL. —  DUELLING 295 


LITERARY  REMINISCENCES. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

WILLIMI  WORDSWORTH  AND  ROBERT  SOUTHEY. 

That  night  —  the  first  of  my  personal  intercourse  with 
Wordsworth  —  the  first  in  which  I  saw  him  face  to  face  — 
was  (it  is  little,  indeed,  to  say)  memorable  :  it  was  marked 
by  a  change  even  in  the  physical  condition  of  my  nervous 
system.  Long  disappointment  —  hope  for  ever  baffled, 
(and  why  should  it  be  less  painful  because  seZf-baflled?) 
— vexation  and  self-blame,  almost  self-contempt,  at  my 
own  want  of  courage  to  face  the  man  whom  of  all  since 
the  Flood  I  most  yearned  to  behold  :  —  these  feelings  had 
impressed  upon  my  nervous  sensibilities  a  character  of 
irrhation  —  agitation  —  restlessness  —  eternal  self-dissatis- 
faction —  which  wei*e  gradually  gathering  into  a  distinct, 
well-defined  type,  that  would,  but  for  youth  —  almighty 
youth,  and  the  spirit  of  youth  —  have  shaped  itself  into 
some  nervous  complaint,  wearing  symptoms  sui  generis, 
(for  most  nervous  complaints,  in  minds  that  are  at  all 
eccentric,  will  be  sui  generis  ;)  and,  perhaps,  finally,  have 
been  immortalized  in  some  medical  journal  as  the  anoma- 
lous malady  of  an   interesting  young   gentleman,  aged 


10  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

twenty-two,  who  was  supposed  to  have  studied  too  se- 
verely, and  to  have  perplexed  his  brain  with  German 
metaphysics.  To  this  result  things  tended ;  but,  in  one 
hour,  all  passed  away.  It  was  gone,  never  to  return.  The 
spiritual  being  whom  I  had  anticipated  —  for,  like  Eloise, 

'  My  fancy  framed  him  of  th'  angelic  kind  — 
Some  emanation  of  the  all  beauteous  mind  '  — 

this  ideal  creature  had  at  length  been  seen  —  seen  '  in  the 
flesh'  — seen  with  fleshly  eyes;  and  now,  though  he  did 
not  cease  for  years  to  wear  something  of  the  glory  and  the 
aureola  which,  in  Popish  legends,  invests  the  head  of 
superhuman  beings,  yet  it  was  no  longer  as  a  being  to  be 
feared  —  it  was  as  Raphael,  the  '  affable  '  angel,  who  con- 
versed on  the  terms  of  man  with  man,  that  I  now  regarded 
him. 

It  was  four  o'clock,  perhaps,  when  we  arrived.  At  that 
hour  the  daylight  soon  declined  ;  and,  in  an  hour  and  a 
half,  we  were  all  collected  about  the  tea-table.  This,  with 
the  Wordsworths,  under  the  simple  rustic  system  of  habits 
which  they  cherished  then,  and  for  twenty  years  after,  was 
the  most  delightful  meal  in  the  day  ;  just  as  dinner  is  in 
great  cities,  and  for  the  same  reason  —  because  it  was 
prolonged  into  a  meal  of  leisure  and  conversation.  And 
the  reason  why  any  meal  favors  and  encourages  conversa- 
tion is  pretty  much  the  same  as  that  which  accounts  for 
the  breaking  down  of  so  many  lawyers,  and  generally 
their  ill-success  in  the  House  of  Commons.  In  the  courts 
of  law,  when  a  man  is  haranguing  upon  general  and  ab- 
stract topics,  if  at  any  moment  he  feels  getting  beyond  his 
depth,  if  he  finds  his  anchor  driving,  he  can  always  bring 
up,  and  drop  his  anchor  anew  upon  the  terrajirma  of  his 
case  :  the  facts  of  this,  as  furnished  by  his  brief,  always 
assure  him  of  a    retreat   as  soon  as  he  finds   his  more 


■WORDSWORTH  AND  SOUTHET.  11 

general  thoughts  failing  him  ;  and  the  consciousness  of 
this  retreat,  by  inspiring  confidence,  naakes  it  much  less 
probable  that  they  should  fail.  But,  in  Parliament,  where 
the  advantage  of  a  case  with  given  facts  and  circum- 
stances, or  the  details  of  a  statistical  report,  does  not  offer 
itself  once  in  a  dozen  times  that  a  member  has  occasion 
to  speak  —  where  he  has  to  seek  unpremeditated  argu- 
ments and  reasonings  of  a  general  nature,  from  the  im- 
possibility of  wholly  evading  the  previous  speeches  that 
may  have  made  an  impression  upon  the  House ;  —  this 
necessity,  at  any  rate  a  trying  one  to  most  people,  is 
doubly  so  to  one  who  has  always  walked  in  the  leading- 
strings  of  a  case  —  always' swam  with  the  help  of  bladders, 
in  the  conscious  resource  of  his/ac/s.  The  reason,  there- 
fore, why  a  lawyer  succeeds  ill  as  a  senator,  is  to  be  found 
in  the  sudden  removal  of  an  artificial  aid.  Now,  just  such 
an  artificial  aid  is  furnished  to  timid  or  to  unx-eady  men  by 
a  dinner-table,  and  the  miscellaneous  attentions,  courtesies, 
or  occupations  which  it  enjoins  or  permits,  as  by  the  fixed 
memoranda  of  a  brief.  If  a  man  fi^nds  the  ground  slipping 
from  beneath  him  in  a  discussion  —  if,  in  a  tide  of  illustra- 
tion, he  suddenly  comes  to  a  pause  for  want  of  matter  — 
he  can  make  a  graceful  close,  a  self-interruption,  that  shall 
wear  the  interpretation  of  forbearance,  or  even  win  the 
rhetorical  credit  of  an  aposiopesis,  (according  to  circum- 
stances,) by  stopping  to  perform  a  duty  of  the  occasion : 
pressed  into  a  dilemma  by  some  political  partisan,  one 
may  evade  it  by  pressing  him  to  take  a  little  of  the  dish 
before  one  ;  or,  plagued  for  a  reason  which  is  not  forth- 
coming, one  may  deprecate  this  logical  rigor  by  inviting 
one's  tormentor  to  wine.  In  short,  what  I  mean  to  say  is, 
that  a  dinner  party,  or  any  meal  which  is  made  the  meal 
for  intellectual  relaxation,  must  for  ever  offer  the  advan- 
tages of  a  palcEStra,  in  which  the  weapons  are  foils  and 


12  LITERARY   REMINISCENCES. 

the  wounds  not  mortal :  in  which,  whilst  the  interest  is 
that  of  a  real,  the  clanger  is  that  of  a  sham  fight :  in  which, 
whilst  there  is  always  an  opportunity  for  swimming  into 
deep  waters,  there  is  always  a  retreat  into  shallow  ones. 
And  it  may  be  laid  down  as  a  maxim,  that  no  nation  is 
civilized  to  the  height  of  its  capacity  until  it  has  one  such 
meal.  With  our  ancestors  of  sixty  years  back,  this  meal 
was  supper :  with  the  Athenians  and  Greeks  it  was  din- 
ner,* (ccena  and  deinvov,)  as  with  ourselves ;  only  that  the 
hour  was  a  very  early  one,  in  consequence,  partly,  of  the 
early  bedtime  of  these  nations,  (which  again  was  occa- 
sioned by  the  dearness  of  candle-light  to  the  mass  of  those 
who  had  political  rights,  on  whose  account  the  forensic 
meetings,  the  visits  of  clients  to  their  patrons,  &c.,  opened 
the  political  day  by  four  hours  earlier  than  with  us,)  and 
partly  in  consequence  of  the  uncommercial  habits  of  the 
ancients  —  commerce  having  at  no  time  created  an  aris- 
tocracy of  its  own,  and,  therefore,  having  at  no  time  and 
in  no  city  (no,  not  Alexandria  nor  Carthage)  dictated  the 
household  and  social  arrangements,  or  the  distribution  of 
its  hours. 

I  have  been  led  insensibly  into  this  digression.  I  now 
resume  the  thread  of  my  narrative.  That  night,  after 
hearing  conversation  superior  by  much,  in  its  tone  and 
subject,  to  any  which  I  had  ever  heard  before  —  one  ex- 
ception only  being  made,  in  favor  of  Coleridge,  whose 

*  A  curious  dissertation  might  be  written  on  this  subject.  Meantime, 
it  is  remarkable  that  almost  all  modern  nations  have  commtted  the 
blunder  of  supposing  the  Latin  word  for  supper  to  be  cmia,  and  of 
dinner,  prandium.  Now,  the  essential  definition  of  dinner  is,  that 
which  is  the  main  meal —  (what  the  French  call  the  great  meal.)  By 
that  or  any  test,  (for  example,  the  time,  three,  p.  m.,)  the  Roman  ccena 
was  dinner.  Even  Louis  XIL,  whose  death  is  partly  ascribed  to  his 
having  altered  his  dinner  hour  from  nine  to  eleven,  a.  m.  in  compliment 
to  his  young  English  bride,  did  not  sup  at  three,  p.  m. 


WORDSWORTH   AND    SOUTHEY.  13 

Style  differed  from  Wordsworth's  in  this,  that  being  far 
more  agile  and  more  comprehensive,  consequently  more 
showy  and  surprising,  it  was  less  impressive  and  weighty ; 
for  Wordsworth's  was  slow  in  its  movement,  solemn, 
majestic.  After  a  luxury  so  rare  as  this,  I  found  myself, 
about  eleven  at  night,  in  a  pretty  bedroom,  about  fourteen 
feet  by  twelve.  Much  I  feared  that  this  might  turn  out  the 
best  room  in  the  house  ;  and  it  illustrates  the  hospitality 
of  my  new  friends,  to  mention  that  it  was.  Early  in  the 
morning,  I  was  awoke  by  a  little  voice,  issuing  from  a  little 
cottage  bed  in  an  opposite  corner,  soliloquizing  in  a  low 
tone.  I  soon  recognised  the  words  —  'Suffered  under 
Pontius  Pilate;  was  crucified,  dead,  and  buried;'  and  the 
voice  I  easily  conjectured  to  be  that  of  the  eldest  amongst 
Wordsworth's  children,  a  son,  and  at  that  time  about  three 
years  old.  He  was  a  remarkably  fine  boy  in  strength  and 
size,  promising  (which  has  in  fact  been  realized)  a  much 
more  powerful  person,  physically,  than  that  of  his  father. 
Miss  Wordsworth  I  found  making  breakfast  in  the  little 
sitting-room.  No  urn  was  there ;  no  glittering  breakfast 
service ;  a  kettle  boiled  upon  the  fire,  and  everything  was 
in  harmony  with  these  unpretending  arrangements.  I,  the 
son  of  a  merchant,  and  naturally,  therefore,  in  the  midst 
of  luxurious  (though  not  ostentatious)  display  from  my 
childhood,  had  never  seen  so  humble  a  menage :  and  con- 
trasting the  dignity  of  the  man  with  this  honorable  poverty, 
and  this  courageous  avowal  of  it,  his  utter  absence  of  all 
effort 'to  disguise  the  simple  truth  of  the  case,  I  felt  my 
admiration  increase  to  the  uttermost  by  all  I  saw.  This, 
thought  I  to  myself,  is,  indeed,  in  his  own  words  — 

'  Plain  living,  and  liigli  thinking.' 

This  is  indeed  to  reserve  the  humility  and  the  parsimonies 
of  life  for  its  bodily  enjoyments,  and  to  apply  its  lavishness 


14  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

and  its  luxury  to  its  enjoyments  of  the  intellect.  So  nnight 
Milton  have  lived;  so  Marvell.  Throughout  the  day  — 
which  was  rainy  —  the  same  style  of  modest  hospitality 
prevailed.  Wordsworth  and  his  sister  —  myself  being  of 
the  party  —  walked  out  in  spite  of  the  rain,  and  made  the 
circuit  of  the  two  lakes,  Grasmere  and  its  dependency 
Rydal  —  a  walk  of  about  six  miles.  On  the  third  day, 
Mrs.  Coleridge  having  ndw  pursued  her  journey  northward 
to  Keswick,  and  having,  at  her  departure,  invited  me,  in 
her  own  name  as  well  as  Southey's,  to  come  and  see  them, 
Wordsworth  proposed  that  we  should  go  thither  in  com- 
pany, but  not  by  the  direct  route  —  a  distance  of  only 
thirteen  miles  :  this  we  were  to  take  in  our  road  home- 
ward ;  our  outward-bound  journey  was  to  be  by  way  of 
Ulleswater  —  a  circuit  of  forty-three  miles. 

On  the  third  morning  after  my  arrival  in  Grasmere,  I 
found  the  whole  family,  except  the  two  children,  prepared 
for  the  expedition  across  the  mountains.  I  had  heard  of 
no  horses,  and  took  it  for  granted  that  we  were  to  walk  ; 
however,  at  the  moment  of  starting,  a  cart  —  the  common 
farmers'  cart  of  the  country  —  made  its  appearance  ;  and 
the  driver  was  a  bonny  young  woman  of  the  vale.  Such 
a  vehicle  «I  had  never  in  my  life  seen  used  for  such  a 
purpose  ;  but  what  was  good  enough  for  the  Wordsworths 
was  good  enough  for  me;  and,  accordingly,  we  were  all 
carted  along  to  the  little  town,  or  large  village,  of  Amble- 
side —  three  and  a  half  miles  distant.  Our  style  of 
travelling  occasioned  no  astonishment ;  on  the  contrary, 
we  met  a  smiling  salutation  wherever  we  appeared  — 
Miss  Wordsworth  being,  as_^  I  observed,  the  person  most 
familiarly  known  of  our  party,  and  the  one  who  took 
upon  herself  the  whole  expenses  of  the  flying  colloquies 
exchanged  with  stragglers  on  the  road.  What  struck  me 
with  most  astonishment,  however,  was  the  liberal  manner 


WORbSWORTH   AND    SOUTHEY.  15 

of  our  fair  driver,  who  made  no  scruple  of  taking  a  leap, 
with  the  reins  in  her  hand,  anfl  seating  herself  dexter- 
ously upon  the  shafts  (or,  in  Westmoreland  phrase,  the 
trams)  of  the  cart.  From  Ambleside  —  and  without  one 
foot  of  intervening  flat  ground  —  begins  to  rise  the  famous 
ascent  of  Kirkstone  ;  after  which,  for  three  long  miles, 
all  riding  in  a  cart  drawn  by  one  horse  becomes  impossi- 
ble. The  ascent  is  computed  at  three  miles,  but  is, 
probably,  a  little  more.  In  some  parts  it  is  almost  fright- 
fully steep  ;  for  the  road  being  only  the  original  mountain 
track  of  shepherds,  gradually  widened  and  improved  from 
age  to  age,  (especially  since  the  era  of  tourists  began,)  is 
carried  over  ground  which  no  engineer,  even  in  alpine 
countries,  would  have  viewed  as  practicable.  In  ascend- 
ing, this  is  felt  chiefly  as  an  obstruction  and  not  as  a  peril, 
unless  where  there  is  a  risk  of  the  horses  backing ;  but  in 
the  reverse  order,  some  of  these  precipitous  descents  are 
terrific  :  and  yet,  once  in  utter  darkness,  after  midnight, 
and  the  darkness  irradiated  only  by  continual  streams  of 
lightning,  I  was  driven  down  this  whole  descent,  at  a  full 
gallop,  by  a  young  woman  —  the  carriage  being  a  light 
one,  the  horses  frightened,  and  the  descents,  at  some 
critical  parts  of  the  road,  so  literally  like  the  sides  of  a 
house,  that  it  was  difficult  to  keep  the  fore  wheels  from 
pressing  upon  the  hind  legs  of  the  horses.  Indeed,  this 
is  only  according  to  the  custom  of  the  country,  as  I  have 
before  mentioned.  The  innkeeper  of  Ambleside,  or  Low- 
wood,  will  not  mount  this  formidable  hill  without  four 
horses.  The  leaders  you  are  not  required  to  take  beyond 
the  first  three  miles ;  but,  of  course,  they  are  glad  if  you 
will  take  them  on  the  whole  stage  of  nine  miles,  to  Pat- 
terdale ;  and,  in  that  case,  there  is  a  real  luxury  at  hand 
for  those  who  enjoy  velocity  of  motion.  The  descent 
into  Patterdale  is  much  above  two  miles ;  but  such  is  the 


16  LITEKAKY    REMINISCENCES. 

propensity  for  flying  down  hills  in  Westmoreland,  that  I 
have  found  the  descent  accomplished  in  about  six  minutes, 
which  is  at  the  rate  of  eighteen  miles  an  hour ;  the 
various  turnings  of  the  road  making  the  speed  much 
more  sensible  to  the  traveller.  The  pass,  at  the  summit 
of  this  ascent,  is  nothing  to  be  compared  in  sublimity 
with  the  pass  under  Great  Gavil  from  Wastdalehead  ;  but 
it  is  solemn,  and  profoundly  impressive.  At  a  height  so 
awful  as  this,  it  may  be  easily  supposed  that  all  human 
dwellings  have  been  long  left  behind  :  no  sound  of  hu- 
man life,  no  bells  of  churches  or  chapels  ever  ascend 
so  far.  And,  as  is  noticed  in  Wordsworth's  fine  stanzas 
upon  this  memorable  pass,  the  only  sound  that,  even  in 
noonday,  disturbs  the  sleep  of  the  weary  pedestrian,  is  that 
of  the  bee  murmuring  amongst  the  mountain  flowers  —  a 
sound  as  ancient 

'  As  man's  imperial  front,  and  •woman's  roseate  bloom.' 

This  way,  and  (which,  to  the  sentiment  of  the  case,  is  an 
important  point)  this  way,  of  necessity  and  inevitahhj^ 
passed  the  Roman  legions ;  for  it  is  a  mathematic  impos- 
sibility that  any  other  route  could  be  found  for  an  army 
nearer  to  the  eastward  of  this  pass  than  by  way  of 
Kendal  and  Shap  ;  nearer  to  the  westward,  than  by  way 
of  Legbesthwaite  and  St.  John's  Vale,  (and  so  by  Threl- 
keld  to  Penrith.)  Now,  these  two  roads  are  exactly 
twenty-five  miles  apart ;  and,  since  a  Roman  cohort  was 
stationed  at  Ambleside,  [Arnhoglane,)  it  is  pretty  evident 
that  this  cohort  would  not  correspond  with  the  more 
northerly  stations  by  either  of  these  remote  routes  — 
having  immediately  before  it  this  direct  though  difiicult 
pass  of  Kirkstonc.  On  the  solitary  area  of  table-land 
which  you  find  at  the  summit  —  though,  Heaven  knows, 
you  might  almost  cover  it  with  a  drawing-room  carpet, 


WORDSWORTH    AND    SOUTHEY.  17 

SO  suddenly  does  the  mountain  take  to  its  old  trick  of 
precipitous  descent,  on  both  sides  alike — there  are  only 
two  objects  to  remind  you  of  man  and  his  workmanship. 
One  is  a  guide-post  —  always  a  picturesque  and  interest- 
ing object,  because  it  expresses  a  wild  country  and  a 
labyrinth  of  roads,  and  often  made  much  more  interesting 
(as  in  this  case)  by  the  lichens  which  cover  it,  and  which 
record  the  generations  of  men  to  whom  it  has  done  its 
office  ;  as  also  by  the  crucifix  form'  which  inevitably 
recall,  in  all  mountainous  regions,  the  crosses  of  Catholic 
lands,  raised  to  the  memory  of  wayfaring  men  who  have 
perished  by  the  hand  of  the  assassin. 

The  other  memorial  of  man  is  even  more  intcrestinji : 
—  Amongst  the  fragments  of  rock  which  lie  in  the  con- 
fusion  of  a  ruin  on  each  side  of  the  road,  one  there  is 
which  exceeds  the  rest  in  height,  and  which,  in  shape, 
presents  a  very  close  resemblance  to  a  church.  This  lies 
to  the  left  of  the  road  as  you  are  going  from  Ambleside  ; 
and,  from  its  name,  Churchstone,  (Kirkstone,)  is  derived 
the  name  of  the  pass,  and  from  the  pass  the  name  of  the 
mountain.  The  guide-post  —  which  was  really  the  work 
of  man  —  tells  those  going  southwards  (for  to  those  who 
go  northwards  it  is  useless,  since,  in  that  direction,  there 
is  no  choice  of  roads)  that  the  left  hand  track  conducts 
you  to  Troutbeck,  and  Bowness,  and  Kendal ;  the  right 
hand  to  Ambleside,  and  Hawkshead,  and  Ulverslone. 
The  church  —  which  is  but  a  phantom  of  man's  handi- 
work—  might,  however,  really  be  mistaken  for  such, 
were  it  not  that  the  rude  and  almost  inaccessible  state  of 
the  adjacent  ground  proclaims  the  truth.  As  to  size,  that 
is  remarkably  difficult  to  estimate  upon  wild  heaths  or 
mountain  solitudes,  where  there  are  no  leadings  through 
gradations  of  distance,  nor  any  artificial  standards,  from 
which  height  or  breadth  can  be  properly  deduced.     Tliis 

VOL.  II.  2 


18  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

mimic  church,  however,  has  a  peculiarly  fine  effect  in 
this  wild  situation,  which  leaves  so  far  below  the  tumults 
of  this  world  :  the  phantom  church,  by  suggesting  the 
phantom  and  evanescent  image  of  a  congregation,  where 
never  congregation  met;  of  the  pealing  organ,  where 
never  sound  was  heard  except  of  wild  natural  notes,  or 
else  of  the  wind  rushing  through  these  mighty  gates  of 
everlasting  rock  —  in  this  way,  the  fanciful  image  that 
accompanies  the  traveller  on  his  road,  for  half  a  mile  or 
more,  serves  to  bring  out  the  antagonist  feelinj;  of  intense 
and  awful  solitude,  which  is  the  natural  and  presiding 
sentiment  — the  religio  loci  —  that  broods  for  ever  over 
the  romantic  pass. 

Having  walked  up  Kirkstone,  we  ascended  our  cart 
again;  then  rapidly  descended  to  Brothers'  Water  —  a 
lake  which  lies  immediately  below  ;  and,  about  three 
miles  further,  through  endless  woods  and  under  the  shade 
of  mighty  fells,  immediate  dependencies  and  processes  of 
the  still  more  mighty  Helvcllyn,  we  approached  the  vale 
of  Patterdale,  when,  by  moonlight,  we  reached  the  inn. 
Here  we  found  horses  —  by  whom  furnished  1  never 
asked  nor  heard  ;  perhaps  I  owe  somebody  for  a  horse  to 
this  day.  All  I  remember  is  —  that  through  those  most 
romantic  woods  and  rocks  of  Stybarren  —  through  those 
silent  glens  of  Glencoin  and  Glenridding  —  through  that 
most  romantic  of  parks  then  belonging  to  the  Duke  of 
Norfolk,  viz.,  Gobarrow  Park  —  we  saw  alternately,  for 
four  miles,  the  most  grotesque  and  the  most  awful  specta- 
cles — 

•  Abbey  windows 
And  Moorish  temples  of  the  Hindoos,' 

all  fantastic,  all  as  unreal  and  shadowy  as  the  moonlight 
which  created  them  ;  whilst,  at  every  angle  of  the  road, 


•WORDSWORTH  AND  SOUTHEY.  19 

broad  gleams   came   upwards   of  Ullcswater,   stretching 
for  nine  miles  northward,  but,  fortunately  for  its  effect, 
broken    into    three     watery    chambers    of    almost    equal 
length,  and  rarely  visible  at  once.     At  the   foot  of  the 
lake,  in  a  house  called   Ewsmere,  we  passed  the  night, 
having  accomplished  about  twenty-two  miles  only  in  our 
day's   walking  and  riding.     The  next    day    Wordsworth 
and  I,  leaving  at  Ewsmere  the  rest  of  our  party,  spent 
the  morning  in  roamino;  through  the  woods  of  Lowther, 
and,    towards    evening,    we    dined    together    at    Emont 
Bridge,   one     mile    short    of    Penrith.      Afterwards,  we 
walked    into    Peniith.      There    Wordsworth    left    me    in 
excellent  quarters  —  the  house  of  Captain    Wordsworth, 
from  which  the  family  happened  to  be  absent.     Whither 
he  himself  adjourned,  I  know  not,  nor  on  what  business ; 
however,  it  occupied   him  throughout  the  next  day;  and, 
therefore,  I    employed    myself   in    sauntering    along    the 
road,  about  seventeen  miles,  to  Keswick.     There  I  had 
been  directed  to  ask    for  Greta  Hall,  which,  with  some 
little  difficulty,  I  found ;  for  it  stands  out  of  the  town  a 
few  hundred  yards,  upon  a  little  eminence  overhanging 
the    river   Greta.      It    was   about   seven  o'clock  when  I 
reached  Southey's  door ;  for  I  had  stopped  to  dine  at  a 
little  public   house  in  Threlkeld,  and  had   walked  slowly 
for  the  last  two  hours  in  the  dark.      The    arrival    of   a 
stranger  occasioned  a  little  sensation  in  the  house;  and, 
by  the  time  the  front  door  could  be  opened,  I  saw  Mrs. 
Coleridge,  and  a  gentleman  whom  I  could  not  doubt  to  be 
Southey,  standing,  very  hospitably,  to  greet  my  entrance. 
Southey    was,    in    person,   somewhat  taller  than   Words- 
worth, being  about  five  feet  eleven  in  height,  or  a  trifle 
more,  whilst  Wordsworth  was  about  five  feet  ten  ;   and, 
partly  from    having    slenderer  limbs,  partly    from   being 
more    symmetrically    formed    about    the    shoulders    than 


20  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

Wordsworth,  he  struck  one  as  a  better  and  lighter  figure, 
to  the  effect  of  which  his  dress  contributed  ;  for  he  wore 
pretty  constantly  a  short  jacket  and  pantaloons,  and  had 
much  the  air  of  a  Tyrolese  mountaineer. 

On  the  next  day  arrived  Wordsworth.  I  could  read  at 
once,  in  the  manner  of  the  two  authors,  that  they  were 
not  on  particularly  friendly,  or  rather,  1  should  say,  confi- 
dential terms.  It  seemed  to  me  as  if  both  had  silently 
said  —  we  are  too  much  men  of  sense  to  quarrel,  because 
we  do  not  happen  particularly  to  like  each  other's  writ- 
ings :  we  are  neighbors,  or  what  passes  for  such  in  the 
country.  Let  us  show  each  other  the  courtesies  which 
are  becoming  to  men  of  letters;  and,  for  any  closer  con- 
nection, our  distance  of  thirteen  miles  may  be  always 
sufficient  to  keep  us  from  that.  In  after  life,  it  is  true  — 
fifteen  years,  perhaps,  from  this  time  —  many  circumstan- 
ces combined  to  bring  Southey  and  Wordsworth  into  more 
intimate  terms  of  friendship  :  agreement  in  politics,  sor- 
rows which  had  happened  to  both  alike  in  their  domestic 
relations,  and  the  sort  of  tolerance  for  different  opinions 
in  literature,  or,  indeed,  in  anything  else,  which  advancing 
years  and  experience  are  sure  to  bring  witli  them.  But 
at  this  period,  Southey  and  Wordsworth  entertained  a 
mutual  esteem,  but  did  not  cordially  like  each  other.  In- 
deed, it  would  have  been  odd  if  they  had,  Wordsworth 
lived  in  the  open  air  :  Southey  in  his  library,  which  Cole- 
ridge used  to  call  his  wife,  Southey  had  particularly  ele- 
gant habits  (Wordsworth  called  them  finical)  in  the  use  of 
books.  Wordsworth,  on  the  other  hand,  was  so  negligent, 
and  so  self-indulgent  in  the  same  case,  that  as  Southey, 
laughing,  expressed  it  to  me  some  years  afterwards,  when 
I  was  staying  at  Greta  Hall  on  a  visit  —  'To  introduce 
Wordsworth  into  one's  library,  is  like  letting  a  bear  into  a 
tulip  garden.'      What  I  mean  by  self-indulgent  is  this : 


WOKDSWORTH    AND    SOUTHET.  21 

generally  it  happens  that  new  books  baffle  and  mock  one's 
curiosity  by  their  uncut  leaves ;  and  the  trial  is  pretty 
much  the  same,  as  when,  in  some  town,  where  you  are 
utterly  unknown,  you  meet  the  postman  at  a  distance  from 
your  inn,  with  some  letter  for  yourself  from  a  dear,  dear 
friend  in  foreign  regions,  without  money  to  pay  the 
postage.  How  is  it  with  you,  dear  reader,  in  such  a 
case?  Are  you  not  tempted  [lam  grievously)  to  snatch 
the  letter  from  his  tantalizing  hand,  spite  of  the  roar 
which  you  anticipate  of  '  Stop  thief!'  and  make  off  as 
fast  as  you  can  for  some  solitary  street  in  the  suburbs, 
where  you  may  instantly  effect  an  entrance  upon  your 
new  estate  before  the  purchase-money  is  paid  down  ? 
Such  were  Wordsworth's  feelings  in  regard  to  new  books ; 
of  which  the  first  exemplication  I  had  was  early  in  my 
acquaintance  with  him,  and  on  occasion  of  a  book  which 
(if  any  could)  justified  the  too  summary  style  of  his  ad- 
vances in  rifling  its  charms.  On  a  level  with  the  eye, 
when  sitting  at  the  tea-table  in  my  little  cottage  at  Gras- 
mere,  stood  the  collective  works  of  Edmund  Burke.  The 
book  was  to  me  an  eye-sore  and  an  ear-sore  for  many 
a  year,  in  consequence  of  the  cacophonous  title  lettered  by 
the  bookseller  upon  the  back  — '  Burke's  Works.'  I  have 
heard  it  said,  by  the  way,  that  Donne's  intolerable  defect 
of  ear,  grew  out  of  his  own  baptismal  name,  when  har- 
nessed to  his  own  surname  —  John  Donne.  No  man,  it 
was  said,  who  had  listened  to  this  hideous  jingle  from 
childish  years,  could  fail  to  have  his  genius  for  discord, 
and  the  abominable  in  sound,  improved  to  the  utmost. 
Not  less  dreadful  than  John  Donne  was  '  Burke's  Works;* 
which,  however,  on  the  old  principle,  that  every  day's 
work  is  no  day's  work,  continued  to  annoy  me  for  twenty- 
one  years.  Wordsworth  took  down  the  volume ;  un- 
fortunately it  was  uncut ;  fortunately,  and  by  a  special 

I 


22  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

Providence  as  to  him,  it  seemed,  tea  was  proceeding  at 
the  time.  Dry  toast  required  butter ;  butter  required 
knives ;  and  knives  then  lay  on  the  table  ;  but  sad  it  was 
for  the  virgin  purity  of  Mr.  Burke's  as  yet  unsunned 
pages,  that  every  knife  bore  upon  its  blade  testimonies  of 
the  service  it  had  rendered.  Did  that  stop  Wordsworth  } 
Did  that  cause  him  to  call  for  another  knife  ?  Not  at 
all ;  he 

'  Look'd  at  the  knife  that  caus'd  his  pain  : 
And  look'd  and  sigh'd,  and  look'd  and  sigh'd  again  ; ' 

and  then,  after  this  momentary  tribute  to  regret,  he  tore 
his  way  into  the  heart  of  the  volume  with  this  knife,  that 
left  its  greasy  honors  behind  it  upon  every  page  :  and  are 
they  not  there  to  this  day  >  This  personal  experience 
just  brought  me  acquainted  with  Wordsworth's  habits,  and 
that  particular,  especially,  with  his  intense  impatience  for 
one  minute's  delay,  which  would  have  brought  a  remedy  ; 
and  yet  the  reader  may  believe  that  it  is  no  affectation  in 
me  to  say,  that  fifty  such  cases  could  have  given  me  but 
little  pain,  when  I  explain,  that  whatever  could  be  made 
good  by  money,  at  that  time,  I  did  not  regard.  Mad  the 
book  been  an  old  black-letter  book,  having  a  value  from 
its  rarity,  I  should  have  been  disturbed  in  an  indescribable 
degree  ;  but  simply  with  reference  to  the  utter  impossi- 
bility of  reproducing  that  mode  of  value.  As  to  the 
Burke,  it  was  a  common  book ;  I  had  bought  the  book, 
with  many  others,  at  the  sale  of  Sir  Cecil  Wray's  library, 
for  about  two-thirds  of  the  selling  price:  I  could  easily 
replace  it;  and  I  i.iention  the  case  at  all,  only  to  illustrate 
the  excess  of  Wordsworth's  outrages  on  books,  which 
made  him,  in  Southey's  eyes,  a  mere  monster;  for 
Southey's  beautiful  library  was  his  estate  ;  and  this  differ- 
ence of  habits  would  alone  have  sufficed  to  alienate  him 


WORDSWORTH    AND    SOUTHEY.  23 

from  Wordsworth.     And  so  I  argued  in  other  cases  of  the 
same  nature. 

Meantime,  had  Wordsworth  done  as  Coleridge  did,  how 
cheerfully  should  I  have  acquiesced  in  his  destruction 
(such  as  it  was,  in  a  pecuniary  sense,)  of  books,  as  the 
very  highest  obligation  he  could  confer.  Coleridge  often 
spoiled  a  book ;  but,  in  the  course  of  doing  this,  he 
enriched  that  book  with  so  many  and  so  valuable  notes, 
tossing  about  him,  with  such  lavish  profusion,  from  such  a 
cornucopia  of  discursive  reading,  and  such  a  fusing 
intellect,  commentaries,  so  many-angled  and  so  many- 
colored,  that  I  have  envied  many  a  man  whose  luck  has 
placed  him  in  the  way  of  such  injuries;  and  that  man 
must  have  been  a  churl  (though,  God  knows!  too  often 
this  churl  has  existed)  who  could  have  found  in  his  heart 
to  complain.  But  Wordsworth  rarely,  indeed,  wrote  on 
the  margin  of  books;  and,  when  he  did,  nothing  could 
less  illustrate  his  intellectual  superiority.  The  comments 
were  such  as  might  have  been  made  by  anybody.  Once, 
I  remember,  before  I  had  ever  seen  Wordsworth  — 
probably  a  year  before  —  I  met  a  person  who  had  once 
enjoyed  the  signal  honor  of  travelling  with  him  to  London. 
It  was  in  a  stage-coach.  But  the  person  in  question  well 
knew  who  it  was  that  had  been  his  compagnon  de  voyage. 
Immediately  he  was  glorified  in  my  eyes.  'And,'  said  I, 
to  this  glorified  gentleman,  (who,  par  parenthese,  was  also 
a  donkey,)  '  now,  as  you  travelled  nearly  three  hundred 
miles  in  the  company  of  Mr.  Wordsworth,  consequently, 
(for  this  was  in  1805,)  during  two  nights  and  two  days, 
doubtless  you  must  have  heard  many  profound  remarks 
that  would  inevitably  fajl  from  his  lips.'  Nay,  Coleridge 
had  also  been  of  the  party;  and,  if  Wordsworth  solus 
could  have  been  dull,  was  it  within  human  possibilhies 
that  these  gemini  should  have  been  so  ?     '  Was  it  pos- 


24  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

sible  ?  '  I  said  ;  and,  perhaps,  my  donkey,  who  looked 
like  one  that  had  been  immoderately  threatened,  at  last 
took  courage  ;  his  eye  brightened  ;  and  he  intimated  that 
he  did  remember  something  that  Wordsworth  had  said  — 
an  '  observe,'  as  the  Scotch  call  it. 

*  Ay,  indeed  ;  and  what  was  it  now  ?  What  did  the 
great  man  say  ?  ' 

*  Why,  sir,  in  fact,  and  to  make  a  long  story  short,  on 
coming  near  to  London,  we  breakfasted  at  Baldock  — 
you  know  Baldock?  It's  in  Hertfordshire.  Well,  now, 
sir,  would  you  believe  it,  though  we  were  quite  in  regular 
time,  the  breakfast  was  precisely  good  for  nothing.? ' 

'  And  Wordsworth  }  ' 

'  He  observed  ' 

'  What  did  he  observe  ? ' 

'  That  the  buttered  toast  looked,  for  all  the  world,  as  if 
it  had  been  soaked  in  hot  water.' 

Ye  heavens !  '  buttered  toast ! '  And  was  it  this  I 
waited  for  ?  Now,  thought  I,  had  Henry  Mackenzie  been 
breakfasting  with  Wordsworth,  at  Baldock,  (and,  strange 
enough  !  in  years  to  come  I  did  breakfast  with  Henry 
Mackenzie,  for  the  solitary  time  I  ever  met  him,  and  at 
Wordsworth's  house,  in  Rydal,)  he  would  have  carried  off 
one  sole  reminiscence  from  the  meeting  —  namely,  a 
confirmation  of  his  creed,  that  we  English  are  all  dedi- 
cated, from  our  very  cradle,  to  the  luxuries  of  the  palate, 
and  peculiarly  to  this.*     Prok  pudor  !     Yet,  in  sad  sin- 

*  It  is  not  known  to  the  English,  hut  it  is  a  fact  which  I  can  vouch 
for,  from  my  six  or  seven  years'  residence  in  Scotland,  that  the  Scotch, 
one  and  all,  lielieve  it  to  be  an  inalienable  characteristic  of  an  English- 
man to  be  fond  of  good  eating.  What  indignation  have  I,  and  how 
many  a  time,  had  occasion  to  feel  and  utter  on  this  subject?  But  of  this 
at  some  other  time.  Meantime,  the  Man  of  Feeling  had  this  creed  in 
excess ;  and,  in  some  paper,  (of  The  MivroT  or  The  Lounger,)  he 
desciibes  an  English  tourist  in  Scotland  by  saying  — '  1  would  not  wish 


WORDSWORTH    AND   SOUTHEY.  25 

cerity,  Wordsworth's  pencil-notices  in  books  were  quite 
as  disappointing.  Tn  Roderick  Random,  for  example,  I 
found  a  note  upon  a  certain  luscious  description,  to  the 
effect  '  that  such  things  should  be  left  to  the  imagination 
of  the  reader  —  not  expressed.'  In  another  place,  that  it 
was  'improper;'  and,  in  a  third,  'that  the  principle  laid 
down  was  doubtful ; '  or,  as  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley 
observes,  '  that  much  might  be  said  on  both  sides.'  All  this, 
however,  indicates  nothing  more  than  that  ditferent  men 
require  to  be  roused  by  different  stimulants.  Wordsworth, 
in  his  marginal  notes,  thought  of  nothing  but  delivering 
himself  of  a  strong  feeling,  with  which  he  wished  to 
challenge  the  reader's  sympathy.  Coleridge  imagined  an 
audience  before  him  ;  and,  however  doubtful  that  con- 
summation might  seem,  I  am  satisfied  that  he  never  wrote 
a  line  for  which  he  did  not  feel  the  momentary  inspiration 
of  sympathy  and  applause,  under  the  confidence,  that, 
sooner  or  later,  all  which  he  had  committed  to  the  chance 
margins  of  books  would  converge  and  assemble  in  some 
common  reservoir  of  reception.  Bread  scattered  upon 
the  waters  will  be  gathered  after  many  days.  This,  per- 
haps, was  the  consolation  that  supported  him  ;  and  the 
prospect  that,  for  a  time,  his  Arethusa  of  truth  would  flow 
under  ground,  did  not,  perhaps,  disturb,  but  rather  cheered 
and  elevated  the  sublime  old  somnambulist.* 


to  be  ihoughl  national  ;  yet,  in  mere  reverence  for  truth,  I  am  bound  to 
say,  and  to  declare  to  all  the  world,  (let  who  will  be  oflended,)  that  the 
first  innkeeper  in  Scotland,  under  whose  roof  we  met  with  genuine  but- 
tered toa'^t,  was  an  Englishman.' 

*  Meantime,  if  it  did  not  disturb  hiin,  it  ought  to  disturb  us,  his 
immediate  successors,  who  are  at  once  the  most  likely  to  retrieve  these 
losses  by  direct  efforts,  and  the  least  likely  to  benefit  by  any  casual  or 
indirect  retrievals,  such  as  will  be  produced  by  time.  Surely  a  subscrip- 
tion should  be  set  on  fool  to  recover  all  books  enriched  by  his  marginal 
notes.    I  would  subscribe  ;  and  I  know  others  who  would  largely. 


26  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

Meantime,  Wordsworth's  habits  of  using  books  —  which, 
I  am  satisfied,  would,  in  those  days,  alone  have  kept  him 
at  a  distance  from  most  men  with  fine  libraries  —  were 
not  vulgar  ;  not  the  habits  of  those  who  turn  over  the 
page  by  means  of  a  wet  finger,  (though  even  this  abom- 
ination I  have  seen  perpetrated  by  a  Cambridge  tutor  and 
fellow  of  a  college  ;  but  then  he  had  been  bred  up  as  a 
ploughman,  and  the  son  of  a  ploughman ;)  no  ;  but  his 
habits  were  more  properly  barbarous  and  licentious,  and 
in  the  spirit  of  audacity  belonging  de  jure  to  no  man  but 
him  who  could  plead  an  income  of  four  or  five  hundred 
thousand  per  annum,  and  to  whom  the  Bodleian  or  the 
Vatican  would  be  a  three  years'  purchase.  Gross,  mean- 
time, was  his  delusion  upon  this  subject.  Himself  he 
regarded  as  the  golden  mean  between  the  too  little  and 
the  too  much  of  care  for  books  ;  and,  as  it  happened  that 
every  one  of  his  friends  far  exceeded  him  in  this  point, 
curiously  felicitous  was  the  explanation  which  he  gave  of 
this  superfluous  case,  so  as  to  bring  it  within  the  natural 
operation  of  some  known  fact  in  the  man's  peculiar 
situation.  Southey  (he  was  by  nature  something  of  an 
old  bachelor)  had  his  house  filled  with  pretty  articles  — 
bijouterie,  and  so  forth  ;  and,  naturally,  he  wished  his 
books  to  be  kept  up  to  the  same  level  —  burnished  and 
bright  for  show.  Sir  George  Beaumont  —  this  peculiarly 
elegant  and  accomplished  man  —  was  an  old  and  most 
affectionate  friend  of  Wordsworth's.  Sir  George  Beau- 
mont never  had  any  children  :  if  he  had  been  so  blessed, 
they,  by  familiarizing  him  with  the  spectacle  of  books  ill 
used  —  stained,  torn,  mutilated,  &c.  —  would  have  low- 
ered the  standard  of  his  requisitions.  The  short  solution 
of  the  whole  case  was  —  and  it  illustrated  the  nature  of 
his  education  —  he  had  never  lived  in  a  regular  family  at 


WORDSWORTH    AND    SOUTHEY.  27 

a   time    when    habits   are    moulded.      From   boyhood    to 
manhood  he  had  been  sui  juris. 

Returnuig  to  Southey  and  Greta  Hall,  both  the  house 
and  the  master  may  deserve  a  few  words  more  of  de- 
scription. For  the  master,  I  have  already  sketched  his 
person  ;  and  bis  face  I  profess  myself  unable  to  describe 
accurately.  His  hair  was  black,  and  yet  his  complexion 
was  fair  ;  his  eyes  I  believe  to  be  hazel  and  large  ;  but  I 
will  not  vouch  for  that  fact :  his  nose  aquiline  ;  and  he 
has  a  remarkable  habit  of  looking  up  into  the  air,  as  if 
looking  at  abstractions.  The  expression  of  his  face  was 
that  of  a  very  acute  and  an  aspiring  man.  So  far,  it 
was  even  noble,  as  it  conveyed  a  feeling  of  a  serene  and 
gentle  pride,  habitually  familiar  with  elevating  subjects  of 
contemplation.  And  yet  it  was  impossible  that  this  pride 
could  have  been  offensive  to  anybody,  chastened  as  it 
was  by  the  most  unaffected  modesty ;  and  this  modesty 
made  evident  and  prominent  by  the  constant  expression  of 
reverence  for  the  great  men  of  the  age,  (when  he  hap- 
pened to  esteem  them  such,)  and  for  all  the  great  patriarchs 
of  our  literature.  The  point  in  which  Southey's  manner 
failed  the  most  in  conciliating  regard,  was,  in  all  which 
related  to  the  external  expressions  of  friendliness.  No 
man  could  be  more  sincerely  hospitable  —  no  man  more 
essentially  disposed  to  give  up  even  his  time  (the  posses- 
sion which  he  most  valued)  to  the  service  of  his  friends. 
But  there  was  an  air  of  reserve  and  distance  about  him  — 
the  reserve  of  a  lofty,  self-respecting  mind,  but,  perhaps, 
a  little  too  freezing  —  in  his  treatment  of  all  persons  who 
were  not  among  the  corps  of  his  ancient  fireside  friends. 
Still,  even  towards  the  veriest  strangers,  it  is  but  justice  to 
notice  his  extreme  courtesy  in  sacrificing  his  literary 
employments  for  the  day,  whatever  they  might  be,  to  the 


28  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES, 

duty   (for  such  he  made  it)  of  doing  the  honors  of 'the 
lake,  and  the  adjacent  mountains. 

Southey  was  at  that  time,  (1807,)  and  has  continued 
ever  since,  the  most  industrious  of  all  literary  men  on 
record.  A  certain  task  he  prescribed  to  himself  every 
morning  before  breakfast.  This  could  not  be  a  very  long 
one,  for  he  breakfasted  at  nine,  or  soon  after,  and  never 
rose  before  eight,  though  he  went  to  bed  duly  at  half-past 
ten  ;  but,  as  I  have  many  times  heard  him  say,  less  than 
nine  hours'  sleep  he  found  insufficient.  From  breakfast 
to  a  latish  dinner  (about  half  after  five  or  six)  was  his 
main  period  of  literary  toil.  After  dinner,  according  to 
the  accident  of  having  or  not  having  visiters  in  the  house, 
he  sat  over  his  wine  ;  or  he  retired  to  his  library  again, 
from  which,  about  eight,  he  was  summoned  to  tea.  But, 
generally  speaking,  he  closed  his  literary  toils  at  dinner; 
the  whole  of  the  hours  after  that  meal  being  dedicated  to 
his  correspondence.  This,  it  may  be  supposed,  was 
unusually  large,  to  occupy  so  much  of  his  time,  for  his 
letters  rarely  extended  to  any  length.  At  that  period,  the 
post,  by  way  of  Penrith,  reached  Keswick  about  six  or 
seven  in  the  evening.  And  so  pointedly  regular  was 
Southey  in  all  his  habits,  that,  short  as  the  time  was,  all 
letters  were  answered  on  the  same  evening  which  brought 
them.  At  tea,  he  read  the  London  papers.  It  was  per- 
fectly astonishing  to  men  of  less  methodical  habits,  to  find 
how  much  he  got  though  of  elaborate  business  by  his 
unvarying  system  of  arrangement  in  the  distribution  of 
his  time.  We  often  hear  it  said,  in  accounts  of  pattern 
ladies  and  gentlemen,  (what  Coleridge  used  contemptu- 
ously to  style  goody  people,)  that  they  found  time  for 
everything;  that  business  never  interrupted  pleasure; 
that  labors  of  love  and  charity  never  stood  in  the  way  of 
courtesy  or  personal  enjoyment.     This  is  easy  to  say  — 


•WORDSWORTH    AND    SOUTHEY.  '      29 

easy  to  put  down  as  one  feature  of  an  imaginary  portrait : 
but  I  must  say,  that,  in  actual  life,  I  have  seen  few  such 
cases.  Soutliey,  however,  did  find  time  for  everything. 
It  moved  the  sneers  of  some  people,  that  even  his  poetry 
was  composed  according  to  a  predetermined  rule  ;  that  so 
many  lines  should  be  produced,  by  contract,  as  it  were, 
before  breakfast;  so  many  at  such  another  definite  inter- 
val. And  I  acknowledge,  that,  so  far,  I  went  along  with 
the  sneerers,  as  to  marvel  exceedingly  how  that  could  be 
possible.  But,  if  a  priori,  one  laughed  and  expected  to 
see  verses  corresponding  to  this  mechanic  rule  of  con- 
struction, a  posteriori  one  was  bound  to  judge  of  the 
verses  as  one  found  them.  Supposing  them  good,  they 
were  entitled  to  honor,  no  matter  for  the  previous  reasons 
which  made  it  possible  that  they  would  not  be  good.  And 
generally,  however  undoubtedly  they  ought  to  have  been 
bad,  the  world  has  pronounced  them  good.  In  fact,  they 
are  good  ;  and  the  sole  objection  to  them  is,  that  they  are 
too  intensely  ohjective  —  too  much  reflect  the  mind,  as 
spreading  itself  out  upon  external  things  —  too  little  ex- 
hibit the  mind,  as  introverting  itself  upon  its  own  thoughts 
and  feelings.  This,  however,  is  an  objection,  which  only 
seems  to  limit  the  range  of  the  poetry  —  and  all  poetry  is 
limited  in  its  range  :  none  comprehends  more  than  a  sec- 
tion of  the  human  power.  Meantime,  the  prose  of 
Southey  was  that  by  which  he  lived.  The  Quarterly 
Review  it  was  by  which,  as  he  expressed  it  to  myself  in 
1810,  he  '  made  the  pot  boil.'' 

About  the  same  time,  possibly  as  early  as  1808,  (for 
I  think  that  I  remember  in  that  Journal  an  account  of  the 
Battle  of  Vimiera,)  Soutbey  was  engagg.d  by  an  Edin- 
burgh publisher,  [Constable,  was  it  not?]  to  write  the 
entire  historical  part  of  The  Edinburgh  Annual  Register, 
at  a  salary  of  ^400  per  annum.     Afterwards,  the  pub- 


30  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

lisher,  who  was  intensely  national,  and,  doubtless,  never 
from  the  first  cordially  relished  the  notion  of  importing 
English  aid  into  a  city  teeming  with  briefless  barristers 
and  variety  of  talent,  threV  out  a  hint  that  perhaps  he 
might  reduce  the  salary  to  .£300.  Just  about  this  time  I 
happened  to  see  Southey,  who  said  laughingly  —  'If  the 
man  of  Edinburgh  does  this,  I  shall  strike  for  an  advance 
of  wages.'  I  presume  that  he  did  strike,  and,  like  many 
other  '  operatives,'  without  effect.  Those  who  work  for 
lower  wages  during  a  strike  are  called  snobs  *  the  men 
who  stand  out  being  nobs.  Southey  became  a  resolute 
nob ;  but  some  snob  was  found  in  Edinburgh,  some  youth- 
ful advocate,  who  accepted  ^300  per  annum,  and  thence- 
forward Southey  lost  this  part  of  his  income.  I  once 
possessed  the  whole  work  ;  and  in  one  part,  viz.  The  Do' 
meslic  Chronicle,  I  know  that  it  is  executed  with  a  most 
culpable  carelessness  —  the  beginnings  of  cases  being 
given  without  the  ends,  the  ends  without  the  beginnings  — 
a  defect  but  too  common  in  public  journals.  The  credit 
of  the  work,  however,  was  staked  upon  its  treatment  of 
the  current  public  history  of  Europe,  and  the  tone  of  its 
politics  in  times  so  full  of  agitation,  and  teeming  with  new 
births  in  every  year,  some  fated  to  prove  abortive,  but 
others  bearing  golden  promises  for  the  human  race.  Now, 
whatever  might  be  the  talent  with  which  Southey's  suc- 
cessor performed  his  duty,  there  was  a  loss  in  one  point 
for  which  no  talent  of  mere  execution  could  make  amends. 
The  very  prejudices  of  Sou'hey  tended  to  unity  of  feeling: 
they  were  in  harmony  with  each  other,  and  grew  out  of  a 
strong  moral  feeling,  which  is  the  one  sole  secret  for 
giving  interest  to  an  historical  narration,  fusing  the  ir.co- 
herent   details    into  one    body,  and  carrying    the   reader 

*  See  the  Evidence  before  the  House  of  Commons'  CommiUee. 


•WORDSWORTH    AND    SOUTHEY.  31 

fluently  along  the  else  nnonotonous  recurrences  and  un- 
meaning details  of  military  movements.  Well  or  ill 
directed,  a  strong  moral  feeling,  and  a  profound  sympathy 
with  elementary  justice,  is  that  which  creates  a  soul  under 
what  else  may  well  be  denominated,  Miltonically,  '  the 
ribs  of  death.' 

Now  this,  and  a  mind  already  made  up  even  to  obsti- 
nacy upon  all  public  questions,  were  the  peculiar  qualifi- 
cations which  Southey  brought  to  the  task  —  qualifications 
not  to  be  bought  in  any  market,  not  to  be  compensated  by 
any  amount  of  mere  intellectual  talent,  and  almost  impos- 
sible as  the  qualifications  of  a  much  younger  man.     As  a 
pecuniary  loss,  though  considerable,  Southey  was  not  un- 
able to  support  it ;  for  he  had  a  pension  from  Government 
before  this  time,  and  under  the  following  circumstances : 
—  Charles  Wynne,  the  brother  of  Sir  Watkin,  the   great 
autocrat  of  North    Wales  —  that   C.   VV.  who    is    almost 
eqifally  well  known  for  his  knowledge  of  Parliamentary 
usage,  which  pointed  him  out  to  the  notice  of  the  House 
as  an  eligible  person  to  fill  the  office  of  speaker,  and  for 
his  unfortunately   shrill   voice,  which  chiefly  it  was  that 
defeated  his  claim  —  (in  fact,  as  is  universally  known,  his 
brother  and  he,  for  different  defects  of  voice  and  utterance, 
are  called  Bubble  and  Squeak) — this  C,  VV.  had  believed 
himself  to  have  been  deeply  indebted  to  Southey's  high- 
toned  moral  example,  and  to  his  wise  counsels,  during  the 
time  when  both  were  students  at  Oxford,  for  the  fortunate 
direction  given  to  his  own  wavering  impulses.     This  sense 
of  obligation  he  endeavored  to  express,  by  settling  a  pen- 
sion upon  Southey  from  his  own  funds.     At  length,  upon 
the  death  of  Mr.  Pht,  early  in  1806,  an  opening  was  made 
for    the  Fox   and  Grenville   parties  to  come   into  office. 
Charles  Wj'nne,  as  a  person  connected  by  marriage  with 
the  house  of  Grenville,  and  united  with  them  in  political 


32  LITERAEY   REMINISCENCES. 

opinions,  shared  in  the  golden  shower ;  he  also  received  a 
place;  and,  upon  the  strength  of  his  improving  prospects, 
he  married  :  upon  which  it  occurred  to  Southey,  that  it 
was  no  longer  right  to  tax  the  funds  of  one  who  was  now 
called  upon  to  support  an  establishment  becoming  his 
rank.  Under  that  impression,  he  threw  up  his  pension ; 
and  upon  their  part,  to  express  their  sense  of  what  they 
considered  a  delicate  and  honorable  sacrifice,  the  Gren- 
villes  placed  Southey  upon  the  national  pension  list. 

What  might  be  the  exact  color  of  Southey's  political 
creed  in  this  year,  1807,  it  is  difficult  to  say.  The  great 
revolution,  in  his  way  of  thinking  upon  such  subjects, 
with  which  he  has  been  so  often  upbraided  as  something 
equal  in  delinquency  to  a  deliberate  tergiversation  or 
moral  apostasy,  could  not  have  then  taken  place  ;  and  of 
this  I  am  sure,  from  the  following  little  anecdote  connected 
with  this  visit :  —  On  the  day  after  my  own  arrival  at 
Greta  Hall,  came  Wordsworth  following  upon  my  steps 
from  Penrith.  We  dined  and  passed  that  evening  with 
Mr.  Southey.  The  next  morning,  after  breakfast,  pre- 
viously to  leaving  Keswick,  we  were  sitting  in  Southey's 
library ;  and  he  was  discussing  with  Wordsworth  the 
aspect  of  public  affairs :  for  my  part,  I  was  far  too  diffi- 
dent to  take  any  part  in  such  a  conversation,  for  I  had  no 
opinions  at  all  upon  politics,  nor  any  interest  in  public 
affairs,  further  than  that  I  had  a  keen  sympathy  with  the 
national  honor,  gloried  in  the  name  of  Englishman,  and 
had  been  bred  up  in  a  frenzied  horror  of  jacobinism.  Not 
having  been  old  enough,  at  the  first  outbreak  of  the 
French  Revolution,  to  participate  (as  else,  undoubtedly,  I 
should  have  done)  in  the  golden  hopes  of  its  early  dawn, 
my  first  youthful  introduction  to  foreign  politics  had  been 
in  seasons  and  circumstances  that  taught  me  to  approve  of 
all  I  heard  in  abhorrence  of  French  excesses,  and  to  wor- 


WORDSWORTH    AND    SOUTHEY.  33 

ship  the  name  of  Pitt ;  otherwise  my  whole  heart  had  been 
so  steadily  fixed  on  a  different  world  from  the  world  of  our 
daily  experience  that,  for  some  years,  I  had  never  looked 
into  a  newspaper  ;  nor,  if  I  cared  something  for  the  move- 
ment made  by  nations  from  year  to  year,  did  I  care  one 
iota  for  their  movement  from  week  to  week.  Still,  care- 
less as  I  was  on  these  subjects,  it  sounded  as  a  novelty  to 
me,  and  one  which  I  had  not  dreamed  of  as  a  possibility, 
to  hear  men  of  education  and  liberal  pursuits  —  men, 
besides,  whom  I  regarded  as  so  elevated  in  mind,  and  one 
of  them  as  a  person  charmed  and  consecrated  from  error 
—  giving  utterance  to  sentiments  which  seemed  absolutely 
disloyal.  Yet  now  did  I  hear  —  and  I  heard  with  an  emo- 
tion of  sorrow,  but  a  sorrow  that  instantly  gave  way  to  a 
conviction  that  it  was  myself  who  lay  under  a  delusion, 
and  simply  because 

'  from  Abelard  it  came  '  — 


opinions  avowed  most  hostile  to  the  reigning  family  ;  not 
personally  to  tliem,  but  generally  to  a  monarcbical  form  of 
government.  And  that  I  could  not  be  mistaken  in  my 
impression,  that  my  memory  cannot  have  played  me  false, 
is  evident,  from  one  relic  of  the  conversation  which  rested 
upon  my  ear  and  has  survived  to  this  day  —  thirty  and  two 
years  from  the  time.  It  had  been  agreed,  that  no  good 
was  to  be  hoped  for,  as  respected  England,  until  the  royal 
family  should  be  expatriated  ;  and  Southey,  jestingly  con- 
sidering to  what  country  they  could  be  exiled,  with  mutual 
benefit  for  that  country  and  themselves,  had  supposed  the 
case  —  that,  with  a  large  allowance' of  money,  such  as 
might  stimulate  beneficially  the  industry  of  a  rising  colony, 
they  should  be  transported  to  New  Sbuth  Wales;  which 
project,  amusing  his  fancy,  he  had,  witH  the  readiness  and 
facility  that  characterizes  his  mind,  thrown  extempore  into 


vox..  II.  8 


34  LITERARY   REMINISCENCES. 

verse ;  speaking  off,  as  an  improvisatore,  about  eight  or 
ten  lines,  of  which  the  three  last  I  perfectly  remember, 
and  they  were  these,  (by  the  way  I  should  have  mentioned, 
that  they  took  the  form  of  a  petition  addressed  to  the 
King  :  -) 

*  Therefore,  old  George,  by  George  we  pray 

Of  thee  forthwith  to  extend  thy  sway 

Over  the  great  Botanic  Bay.' 

The  sole  doubt  I  have  about  the  exact  words  regard  the 
second  line,  which  might  have  been  (according  to  a 
various  reading  which  equally  clings  to  my  ear)  — 

'  That  thou  would'st  please  t'  extend  thy  sway.' 

But  about  the  last  I  cannot  be  wrong;  for  I  remember 
laughing  with  a  sense  of  something  peculiarly  droll  in  the 
substitution  of  the  stilled  phrase  — '  the  great  Botanic 
Bay,''  for  our  ordinary  week-day  name  Botany  Bai/,  so 
redolent  of  thieves  and  pickpockets. 

Southey  walked  with  us  that  morning  for  about  five 
miles  on  our  road  towards  Grasmere,  which  brought  us  to 
the  southern  side  of  Shoulthwaite  Moss,  and  into  the 
sweet  solitary  little  vale  of  Legbesthwaite.  And,  by  the 
way,  he  took  leave  of  us  at  the  gate  of  a  house,  one 
amongst  the  very  few  (five  or  six  in  all)  just  serving  to 
redeem  that  valley  from  absolute  solitude,  which  some 
years  afterwards  became,  in  a  slight  degree,  remarkable 
to  me  from  two  little  incidents  by  which  it  connected 
itself  with  my  personal  experiences.  One  was,  perhaps, 
scarcely  worth  recording.  It  was  simply  this  —  that 
Wordsworth  and  myself  having,  through  a  long  day's 
rambling,  alternately  walked  and  rode  with  a  friend  of 
his  who  happened  to  have  a  travelling  carriage  with  him, 
and  who  was  on  his  way  to  Keswick,  agreed  to  wait 
hereabouts   until   Wordsworth's   friend,   in   his  abundant 


-   •WORDSWORTH  AND  SOUTHEY.  35 

kindness,  should  send  back  his  carriage  to  take  us,  on  our 
return,  to  Grasmere,  distant  about  eight  miles.  It  was  a 
lovely  summer  evening;  but,  as  it  happened  that  we 
ate  our  breakfast  early,  and  had  eaten  nothing  at  all 
throughout  a  long  summer's  day,  we  agreed  to  'sorn' 
upon  the  goodman  of  the  house,  whoever  he  might  happen 
to  be,  Catholic  or  Protestant,  Jew,  Gentile,  or  Mahometan, 
and  to  take  any  bone  that  he  would  be  pleased  to  toss  to 
such  hungiy  dogs  as  ourselves.  Accordingly  we  repaired 
to  his  gate  ;  we  knocked,  and  forthwith  it  was  opened  to 
us  by  a  man-mountain,  who  listened  benignantly  to  our 
humble  request  and  ushered  us  into  a  comfortable  parlor. 
All  sorts  of  refreshments  he  continued  to  shower  upon  us 
for  a  space  of  two  hours:  it  became  evident  that  our 
introducer  was  the  master  of  the  house:  we  adored  him  in 
our  thoughts  as  an  earthly  providence  to  hungry  way- 
farers ;  and  we  longed  to  make  his  acquaintance.  But, 
for  some  inexplicable  reason,  that  must  contmue  to  puzzle 
all  future  commentators  on  Wordsworth  and  his  history, 
he  never  made  his  appearance.  Could  it  be,  we  thought, 
that,  without  the  formality  of  a  sign,  he,  in  so  solitary  a 
region,  more  than  twenty-five  miles  distant  from  Kendal, 
(the  only  town  worthy  of  the  name  throughout  the  adjacent 
country,)  exercised  the  functions  of  a  landlord,  and  that 
we  ought  to  pay  him  for  his  most  liberal  hospitality  ? 
Never  was  such  a  dilemma  from  the  foundation  of 
Legbesthwaite.  To  err,  in  either  direction,  was  damna- 
ble :  to  go  off  without  paying,  if  he  tcerc  an  innkeeper, 
made  us  swindlers;  to  offer  payment  if  he  were- not,  and 
supposing  that  he  had  been  inundating  us  with  his  hospi- 
table bounties,  simply  in  the  character  of  a  natural-born 
gentleman,  made  us  the  most  unfeeling  of  mercenary 
ruffians.  In  the  latter  case  we  might  expect  a  duel ;  in 
the  former,  of  course,  the  treadmill.     We  were  dcliberat- 


36  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

ing  on  this  sad  alternative,  and  I,  for  my  part,  was  voting 
in  favor  of  the  treadmill,  when  the  sound  of  wheels  was 
heard,  and,  in  one  minute,  the  carriage  of  his  friend  drew 
up  to  the  farmer's  gate  ;  the  crisis  had  now  arrived,  and 
we  perspired  considerably  ;  when  in ,  came  the  frank 
Cumberland  lass  who  had  been  our  attendant.  To  her 
we  propounded  our  difficulty  —  and  lucky  it  was  we  did 
so,  for  she  assured  us  that  her  master  was  an  awful  man, 
and  would  have  '  brained '  us  both  if  we  had  insulted  him 
with  the  offer  of  money.  She,  however,  honored  us  by 
accepting  the  price  of  some  female  ornament. 

I  made  a  memorandum  at  the  time,  to  ascertain  the 
peculiar  taste  of  this  worthy  Cumberland  farmer,  in  order 
that  I  might,  at  some  future  opportunity,  express  my  thanks 
to  him  for  his  courtesy  ;  but,  alas  !  for  human  resolutions, 
I  have  not  done  so  to  this  moment;  and  is  it  likely  that 
he,  perhaps  sixty  years  old  at  that  time,  (1^13,)  is  alive  at 
present,  twenty-five  years  removed  ?  Well,  he  may  be  ; 
though  I  think  thai  exceedingly  doubtful,  considering  the 
next  anecdote  relating  to  the  same  house  :  —  Two,  or,  it 
may  be,  three  years  after  this  time,  I  was  walking  to  Kes- 
wick, from  my  own  cottage,  in  Grasmere.  The  distance 
was  thirteen  miles;  the  time  just  nine  o'clock;  the  night 
a  cloudy  moonlight,  and  intensely  cold.  1  took  the  very 
greatest  delight  in  these  nocturnal  walks,  through  the 
silent  valleys  of  Cumberland  and  Westmoreland  ;  and 
often  at  hours  far  later  than  the  present.  What  I  liked  in 
this  solitary  rambling  was,  to  trace  the  course  of  the  even- 
ing through  its  houseliold  iiieroglyphics,  from  the  windows 
which  I  passed  or  saw  ;  to  see  the  blazing  fires  shining 
through  the  windows  of  houses,  lurking  in  nooks  far  apart 
from  neighbors ;  sometimes  in  solitudes  that  seemed 
abandoned  to  the  owl,  to  catch  the  sounds  of  household 
mirth  ;  then,  some  miles  further,  to  perceive  the  time  of 


WORDSWORTH    AND    SOUTIIEY.  37 

going  to  bed  ;  then  the  gradual  sinking  to  silence  of  the 
house  ;  then  the  drowsy  reign  of  the  cricket  ;  at  intervals, 
to  hear  church-clocks  or  a  little  solitary  chapel-bell,  under 
the  brows  of  mighty  hills,  proclaiming  the  hours  of  the 
night,  and  flinging  out  their  sullen  knells  over  the  graves 
where  '  the  rude  forefathers  of  the  hamlet  slept' —  where 
the  strength  and  the  loveliness  of  Elizabeth's  time,  or 
Cromwell's,  and  through  so  many  fleeting  generations 
that  have  succeeded,  had  long  ago  sunk  to  rest.  Such 
was  the  sort  of  pleasure  which  I  reaped  in  my  nightly 
walks  —  of  which,  however,  considering  the  suspicions  of 
lunacy  which  it  has  sometimes  awoke,  the  less  1  say,  per- 
haps, the  better.  Nine  o'clock  it  was  —  and  deadly  cold 
as  ever  March  night  was  made  by  the  keenest  of  black 
frosts,  and  by  the  bitterest  of  north  winds  —  when  I  drew 
towards  the  gate  of  our  huge  and  hospitable  friend.  A 
little  garden  there  was  before  the  house  ;  and  in  the  cen- 
tre of  this  garden  was  placed  an  arm-chair,  upon  which 
arm-chair  was  sitting  composedly — but  I  rubbed  my  eyes, 
doubting  the  very  evidence  of  my  own  eyesight  —  a  or  the 
huge  man  in  his  shirt-sleeves  ;  yes,  positively  not  sunning 
but  mooning  himself — apricating  himself  in  the  occasional 
moonbeams  ;  and,  as  if  simple  star-gazing  from  a  seden- 
tary station  were  not  sufficient  on  such  a  night,  absolutely 
pursuing  his  astrological  studies,  I  repeat,  in  his  shirt- 
sleeves !  Could  this  be  our  hospitable  friend,  the  man- 
mountain  ?  Secondly,  was  it  any  man  at  all  ?  Might  it 
not  be  a  scarecrow  dressed  up  to  frighten  the  birds  ?  But 
from  what  —  to  frighten  them  from  what  at  that  season 
of  the  year.?  Yet,  again,  it  might  be  an  ancient  scare- 
crow—  a  superannuated  scarecrow,  far  advanced  in  years. 
But,  still,  why  should  a  scarecrow,  young  or  old,  sit  in  an 
arm-chair  .'  Suppose  I  were  to  ask.  Yet,  where  was  the 
use  of  asking  a  scarecrow  }     And,  if  not  a  scarecrow, 


146913 


38  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

where  was  the  safety  of  speaking  too  inquisitively,  on  his 
own  premises,  to  a  man-mountain  ?  The  old  dilemma  of 
the  duel  or  the  treadmill,  if  I  should  intrude  upon  his 
grounds  at  night,  occurred  to  me  ;  and  I  watched  the 
anomalous  object  in  silence  for  some  minutes.  At  length 
the  monster  (for  such  at  any  rate  it  was,  scarecrow  or  not 
scarecrow)  solemnly  raised  his  hand  to  his  face,  perhaps 
taking  a  pinch  of  snuff,  and  thereby  settled  one  question. 
But  that  settled,  only  irritated  my  curiosity  the  more  ; 
upon  a  second,  what  hallucination  of  the  brain  was  it  that 
could  induce  a  living  man  to  adopt  so  very  absurd  a  line 
of  conduct  ?  Once  1  thought  of  addressing  him  thus  :  — 
Might  I  presume  so  far  upon  your  known  courtesy  to  way- 
faring strangers,  as  to  ask  —  Is  it  the  Devil  who  prompts 
you  to  sit  in  your  shirt-sleeves,  as  if  meditating  a  camisade, 
or  to  woo  al  fresco  pleasures  on  such  a  night  as  this  ? 
But  as  Dr.  Y.,  on  complaining  that,  whenever  he  looked 
out  of  the  window,  he  was  sure  to  see  Mr.  X.  lounging 
about  the  quadrangle,  was  efTectually  parried  by  Mr.  X. 
retorting  —  that,  whenever  he  lounged  in  the  quadrangle, 
he  was  sure  to  see  the  Doctor  looking  out  of  the  window ; 
so  did  I  anticipate  a  puzzling  rejoinder  from  the  former, 
with  regard  to  my  own  motives  for  haunting  the  roads  as 
a  nocturnal  tramper,  without  a  rational  object  that  I 
could  make  intelligible.  I  thought,  also,  of  the  faie  which 
attended  the  Calendars,  and  so  many  other  notorious  char- 
acters in  the  *  Arabian  Nights,'  for  unseasonable  ques- 
tions, or  curiosity  too  vivacious.  And,  upon  the  whole,  I 
judged  it  advisable  to  pursue  my  journey  in  silence,  con- 
sidering the  time  of  night,  the  solitary  place,  and  the 
fancy  of  our  enormous  friend  for  'braining'  those  whom 
he  regarded  as  ugly  customers.  And  thus  it  came  about 
that  this  one  house  has  been  loaded  in  my  memoiy  with  a 
double  mystery,  that  too  probably  never  can  be  explained  : 


WORDSWORTH    AND    SOUTHEY.  39 

and  another  torment  had  been  prepared  for  the  curious 
of  future  ages. 

Of  Southey,  meantime,  I  had  learned,  upon  this  brief 
and  hurried  visit,  so  much  in  confirmation  or  in  extension 
of  my  tolerably  just  preconceptions,  with  regard  to  his 
character  and  manners,  as  left  me  not  a  very  great  deal 
to  add,  and  nothing  at  all  to  alter,  through  the  many  years 
which  followed  of  occasional  intercourse  with  his  family, 
and  domestic  knowledge  of  his  habits.  A  man  of  more 
serene  and  even  temper,  could  not  be  imagined  ;  nor  more 
uniformly  cheerful  in  his  tone  of  spirits  ;  nor  more  unaf- 
fectedly polite  and  courteous  in  his  demeanor  to  strangers; 
nor  more  hospitable  in  his  own  wrong  —  I  mean  by  the 
painful  sacrifices,  which  hospitality  entailed  upon  him,  of 
time,  so  exceedingly  precious  that,  during  his  winter  and 
spring  months  of  solitude,  or  whenever  he  was  left  abso- 
lute master  of  its  distribution,  every  half  hour  in  the  day 
had  its  peculiar  duty.  In  the  still  '  weightier  matters  of 
the  law,'  in  cases  that  involved  appeals  to  conscience  and 
high  moral  principle,  I  believe  Southey  to  be  as  exemplary 
a  man  as  can  ever  have  lived.  Were  it  to  his  own  instant 
ruin,  1  am  satisfied  that  he  would  do  justice  and  fulfil  his 
duty  under  any  possible  difficulties,  and  through  the  very 
strongest  temptations  to  do  otherwise.  For  honor  the 
most  delicate,  for  integrity  the  firmest,  and  for  generosity 
within  the  limits  of  prudence,  Southey  cannot  well  have 
a  superior;  and,  in  the  lesser  moralities — those  which 
govern  the  daily  habits,  and  transpire  through  the  manners 
—  he  is  certainly  a  better  man  —  that  is,  (with  reference 
to  the  minor  principle  concerned,)  a  more  amiable  man  — 
than  Wordsworth.  He  is  less  capable,  for  instance,  of 
usurping  an  undue  share  of  the  conversation ;  he  is  more 
uniformly  disposed  to  be  charitable  in  his  transient  collo- 
quial judgments  upon  doubtful  actions  of  his  neighbors; 


40  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

more  gentle  and  winning  in  his  condescensions  to  inferior 
knowledge  or  powers  of  mind  ;  more  willing  to  suppose  it 
possible  that  he  himself  may  have  fallen  into  an  error; 
more  tolerant  of  avowed  indifTerence  towards  his  own 
writings,  (though  by  the  way,  I  shall  have  something  to 
offer  in  justification  of  Wordsworth,  upon  this  charge  ;) 
and,  finally,  if  the  reader  will  pardon  a  violent  instance 
of  anti-climax,  much  more  ready  to  volunteer  his  assist- 
ance in  carrying  a  lady's  reticule  or  parasol. 

As  a  more  amiable  man,  (taking  that  word  partly  in  the 
French  sense,  partly  also  in  the  loftier  English  sense,)  it 
might  be  imagined  that  Southey  would  be  a  more  eligible 
companion  than  Wordsworth.  But  this  is  not  so;  and 
chiefly  for  three  reasons  which  more  than  counterbalance 
Southey's  greater  amiability  ;  Jirst,  because  the  natural 
reserve  of  Southey,  which  I  have  mentioned  before,  makes 
it  peculiaily  difficult  to  place  yourself  on  terms  of  inti- 
macy with  him  ;  secondly,  because  the  range  of  his  con- 
versation is  more  limited  than  that  of  Wordsworth  — 
dealing  less  with  life  and  the  interests  of  life  —  more 
exclusively  with  books ;  thirdly,  because  the  style  of  his 
conversation  is  less  flowing  and  diffusive  —  less  expansive 
—  more  apt  to  clothe  itself  in  a  keen,  sparkling,  aphoris- 
tic form  — consequently  much  sooner  and  more  frequently 
coming  to  an  abrupt  close.  A  sententious,  epigrammatic 
form  of  delivering  opinions  has  a  certain  effect  of  clench' 
ivg  a  subject,  which  makes  it  difficult  to  pursue  it  without 
a  corresponding  smartness  of  expression,  and  something 
of  the  same  antithetic  point  and  equilibration  of  clauses. 
Not  that  the  reader  is  to  suppose  in  Southey  a  showy 
master  of  rhetoric  and  colloquial  sword-play,  seeking  to 
strike  and  to  dazzle  by  his  brilliant  hits  or  adroit  evasions. 
The  very  opposite  is  the  truth.  He  seeks,  indeed,  to  be 
effective,  not  for  the  sake  of  display,  but  as  the  readiest 


WORDSWORTH    AND    SOUTHEY.  41 

means  of  retreating  from  difplay,  and  the  necessity  for 
display :  feeling  that  his  station  in  literature  and  his 
laurelled  honors  make  him  a  mark  for  the  curiosity  and 
interest  of  the  company  —  that  a  standing  appeal  is  con- 
stantly turning  to  him  for  his  opinion  —  a  latent  call 
always  going  on  for  his  voice  on  the  question  of  the  mo- 
ment—  he  is  anxious  to  comply  with  this  requisition  at  as 
slight  a  cost  as  may  be  of  thought  and  time.  His  heart  is 
continually  reverting  to  his  wife,  viz.,  his  library  ;  and 
that  he  may  waste  as  little  effort  as  possible  upon  his  con- 
versational exercises  —  that  the  little  he  wishes  to  say  may 
appear  pregnant  with  much  meaning  —  he  finds  it  advan- 
tageous, and,  moreover,  the  style  of  his  mind  naturally 
prompts  him,  to  adopt  a  trenchant,  pungent,  aculeated 
form  of  terse,  glittering,  stenographic  sentences  —  sayings 
which  have  the  air  of  laying  down  the  law  without  any 
locus  penilenticR  or  privilege  of  appeal,  but  are  not  meant 
to  do  so :  in  short,  aiming  at  brevity  for  the  company  as 
well  as  for  himself,  by  cutting  ofT  all  opening  for  discussion 
and  desultory  talk,  through  the  sudden  winding  up  that 
belongs  to  a  sententious  aphorism.  The  hearer  feels  that 
'  the  record  is  closed  ; '  and  he  has  a  sense  of  this  result  as 
having  been  accomplished  by  something  like  an  oracular 
laying  down  of  the  law  ex  cathedra  :  but  this  is  an  indirect 
collateral  impression  from  Southey's  manner,  and  far  from 
the  one  he  meditates  or  wishes.  An  oracular  manner  he 
does  certainly  affect  in  certain  dilemmas  of  a  languishing 
or  loitering  conversation  ;  not  the  peremptoriness,  mean- 
time, not  the  imperiousness  of  the  oracle  is  what  he  seeks 
for,  but  its  brevity,  its  dispatch,  its  conclusiveness. 

Finally,  as  a  fourth  reason  why  Southey  is  less  fitted 
for  a  genial  companion  than  Wordsworth,  his  spirits  have 
been,  of  late  years,  in  a  lower  key  than  those  of  the 
latter.     The  tone  of  Southey's  animal  spirits  was  never 

• 


42  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

at  any  time  raised  beyond  the  standard  of  an  ordinary 
sympatliy;  there  was  in  him  no  tumult,  no  agitation  of 
passion;  his  organic  and  constitutional  sensibilities  were 
healthy,  sound,  perhaps  strong  —  but  not  profound,  not 
excessive.  Cheerful  he  was,  and  animated  at  all  times; 
but  he  levied  no  tributes  on  the  spirits  or  the  feelings 
beyond  what  all  people  could  furnish.  One  reason  why 
his  bodily  temperament  never,  like  that  of  Wordsworth, 
threw  him  into  a  state  of  tumultuous  excitement,  which 
required  intense  and  elaborate  conversation  to  work  off 
the  excessive  fervor,  was,  that,  over  and  above  his  far 
less  fervid  constitution  of  mind  and  body,  Soulhey  rarely 
took  any  exercise;  he  led  a  life  as  sedentary,  except  for 
the  occasional  excursions  in  summer,  (extorted  from  his 
sense  of  kindness  and  hospitality,)  as  that  of  a  city 
tailor.  And  it  was  surprising  to  many  people,  who  did 
not  know  by  experience  the  prodigious  effect  upon  the 
mere  bodily  health  of  regular  and  congenial  mental 
labor,  that  Southey  should  be  able  to  maintain  health  so 
regular,  and  cheerfulness  so  uniformly  serene.  Cheerful, 
however,  he  was,  in  those  early  years  of  my  acquaint- 
ance with  him ;  but  it  was  manifest  to  a  thoughtful 
observer,  that  his  golden  equanimity  was  bound  up  in  a 
threefold  chain,  in  a  conscience  clear  of  all  offence,  in 
the  recurring  enjoyments  from  his  honorable  industry,  and 
in  the  gratification  of  his  parental  affections.  If  any  one 
chord  should  give  way,  there  (it  seemed)  would  be  an 
end  to  Southey's  tranquillity.  He  had  a  son  at  that  time, 
Herbert*  Southey,  a  child  in  petticoats  when  I  first  knew 


*  Why  he  was  called  Herbert,  if  my  young  readers  inquire,  I  must 
reply  that  I  do  not  precisely  know  ;  because  I  know  of  reasons  too 
many  by  half  why  he  might  have  been  so  called.  Derwent  Coleridge, 
the  second  son  of  Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge,  and  first  cousin, of  Herbert 
Soulhey,  was  so  called  from  the   Lake  of  Keswick,  commonly  styled 


WOKDSWORTII    AND    SOUTIIEY.  43 

him,  very  interesting  even  then,  but  annually  putting 
forth  fresh  blossoms  of  unusual  promise,  that  made  even 
indifTerent  people  fear  for  the  safety  of  one  so  finely 
organized,  so  delicate  in  his  sensibilities,  and  so  prema- 
turely accomplished.  As  to  his  father,  it  became  evident, 
that  he  lived  almost  in  the  light  of  young  Herbert's 
smiles,  and  that  the  very  pulses  of  his  heart  played  in 
unison  to  the  sound  of  his  son's  laughter.  There  was  in 
his  manner  towards  this  child,  and  towards  this  only, 
something  that  marked  an  excess  of  delirious  doating, 
perfectly  unlike  the  ordinary  chastened  movements  of 
Southey's  affections  ;  and  something  also,  which  indicated 
a  vague  fear  about  him ;  a  premature  unhappiness,  as  if 
already  the  inaudible  tread  of  calamity  could  be  per- 
ceived, as  if  already  he  had  lost  him;  which,  for  the 
latter  years  of  the  boy's  life,  seemed  to  poison  the 
blessing  of  his  presence. 

A  stronger  evidence  I  cannot  give  of  Southey's  trem- 
bling apprehensiveness  about  this  child,  than  that  the  only 
rude  thing  I  ever  knew  him  to  do,  the  only  discourteous 
thing,  was  done  on  his  account.  A  party  of  us,  chiefly 
composed  of  Southey's  family  and  his  visiters,  were  in  a 
sailboat  upon  the  lake.  Herbert  was  one  of  this  party ; 
and  at  that  time  not  above  five  or  six  years  old.  In 
landing  upon  one  of  the  islands,  most  of  the  gentlemen 
were  occupied  in  assisting  the  ladies  over  the  thwarts  of 
the  boat;  and  one  gentleman,  merely  a  stranger,  observ- 
ing this,  good-naturedly  took  up  Herbert  in  his  arms,  and 

Derwenl  Water,  which  gave  the  title  of  Earl  to  the  noble  and  thenoble- 
niinde.i,  though  erring  family  of  the  Radcliffes,  who  gave  up,  like  heroes 
and  martyrs,  their  lives  and  the  finest  estates  in  England,  for  one  who 
was  incapalile  of  appreciating  the  service.  One  of  the  islands  on  this 
lake  is  dedicated  to  St.  Herbert,  and  this  might  have  given  a  name  to 
Southey's  first-born  child.  But  it  is  more  probable,  that  he  derived  this 
name  from  Dr.  Herbert,  uncle  to  the  laureate. 


44  LITERARY     REMINISCENCES. 

was  stepping  with  him  most  carefully  from  thwart  to 
thwart,  when  Southey,  in  a  perfect  frenzy  of  anxiety  for 
his  boy,  his  'moon'  as  he  used  to  call  him,  ([  suppose 
from  some  pun  of  his  own,  or  some  mistake  of  the  child's 
upon  the  equivocal  word  sun.)  rushed  forward,  and  tore 
him  out  of  the  arms  of  the  stranger  without  one  word  of 
apology  ;  nor,  in  fact,  under  the  engrossing  panic  of  the 
moment,  lest  an  unsteady  movement  along  with  the  rock- 
ing and  undulating  of  the  boat  should  throw  his  little  boy 
overboard  into  the  somewhat  stormy  waters  of  the  lake, 
did  Southey  become  aware  of  his  own  exceedingly  dis- 
courteous action  —  fear  for  his  boy  quelled  his  very 
power  of  perception.  That  the  stranger,  on  reflection, 
understood,  a  race  of  emotions  travelled  over  his  counte- 
nance. I  saw  the  whole,  a  silent  observer  from  the  shore. 
First  a  hasty  blush  of  resentment  mingled  with  astonish- 
ment:  then  a  good-natured  smile  of  indulgence  to  the 
ndivele  of  the  patenial  feeling  as  displaying  itself  in  the 
act,  and  the  accompanying  gestures  of  frenzied  impa- 
tience ;  finally,  a  considerate,  grave  expression  of  acqui- 
escence in  the  whole  act ;  but  with  a  pitying  look  towards 
father  and  son,  as  too  probably  destined  under  such 
agony  of  affection  to  trials  perhaps  insupportable.  If  I 
interpreted  aright  the  stranger's  feelings,  he  did  not  read 
their  destinies  amiss.  Herbert  became,  with  his  growing 
years,  a  child  of  more  and  more  hope  ;  but,  therefore, 
the  object  of  more  and  more  fearful  solicitude.  He  read, 
and  read ;  and  he  became  at  last 

'  A  yery  learned  youth  '  — 

to  borrow  a  line  from  his  uncle's  beautiful  poem  on  the 
wild  boy,  who  fell  into  a  heresy,  whilst  living  under  the 
patronage  of  a  Spanish  grandee,  and,  finally,  escaped 
from   a    probable    martyrdom,    by   sailing    up    a    great 


"WORDSWORTH  AND  SOUTHEY.  45 

American  river  wide  as  any  soa,  after  which  he  was 
never  heard  of  affiii'i.  The  learned  vouth  of  the  river 
Greta  had  an  earlier  and  more  sorrowful  close  to  his 
career.  Possibly  from  want  of  exercise,  combined  with 
inordinate  exercise  of  the  cerebral  organs,  a  disease 
gradually  developed  itself  in  the  heart.  It  was  not  a 
mere  disorder  in  the  functions,  it  was  a  disease  in  the 
structure  of  the  organ,  and  admitted  of  no  permanent 
relief,  consequently  of  no  hnal  hope.  He  died  ;  and  with 
him  died  f6r  ever  the  golden  hopes,  the  radiant  felicity, 
and  the  internal  serenity,  of  the  unhappy  father.  It  was 
from  Southey  himself,  speaking  without  external  signs  of 
agitation,  calmly,  dispassionately,  almost  coldly,  but  with 
the  coldness  of  a  settled  despondency,  that  I  heard,  whilst 
accompanying  him  through  Grasmere  on  his  road  home- 
wards to  Keswick,  from  some  visit  he  had  been  paying 
to  Wordsworth  at  Rvdal  Mount,  his  settled  feelings  and 
convictions  as  connected  wiih  that  loss;  for  him,  in  this 
world,  he  said,  happiness  there  could  be  none;  for  that 
his  tenderest  affections,  the  very  deepest  by  many  degrees 
which  he  had  ever  known,  were  now  buried  in  the  grave 
with  his  youthful  and  too  brilliant  Herbert. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

SOUTIIEY,  WORDSWORTH,  AND  COLERIDGE. 

A  CIRCUMSTANCE  which,  as  much  as  anything,  expound- 
ed to  every  eye  the  characteristic  distinctions  between 
Wordsworth  and  Southey,  and  would  not  suffer  a  stranger 
to  forget  it  for  a  moment,  was  the  insignificant  place  and 
consideration  allowed  to  the  small  book-collection  of  the 
former,  contrasted  with  the  splendid  library  of  the  latter. 
The  two  or  three  hundred  volumes  of  Wordsworth  occu- 
pied a  little,  homely,  painted  book-case,  fixed  into  one  of 
two  shallow  recesses,  formed  on  each  side  of  the  fireplace 
by  the  projection  of  the  chimney  in  the  little  sitting-room 
up  stairs,  which  he  had  already  described  as  his  half 
kitchen  and  half  parlor.  They  were  ill  bound,  or  not 
bound  at  all  —  ia  boards,  sometimes  in  tatters ;  many 
were  imperfect  as  to  the  number  of  volumes,  mutilated  as 
to  the  number  of  pages ;  sometimes,  where  it  seemed 
worth  while,  the  defects  being  supplied  by  manuscript ; 
sometimes  not :  in  short,  everything  showed  that  the  books 
were  for  use,  and  not  for  show  ;  and  their  limited  amount 
showed  that  their  possessor  must  have  independent  sources 
of  enjoyment  to  fill  up  the  major  part  of  his  time.  In 
reality,  when  the  weather  was  tolerable,  I  believe  that 
Wordsworth  rarely  resorted  to  his  books,  (unless,  perhaps, 
to  some  little  pocket  edition  of  a  poet,  which  accompanied 
him   in   his   rambles,)   except  in  the   evenings,  or  after 


SOUTHEY,    WORDSWORTH,    AND    COLERIDGE.  47 

he  had  tired  himself  by  walking.  On  the  other  hand, 
Southey's  collection  occupied  a  separate  room,  the  largest, 
and,  every  way,  the  most  agreeable  in  the  house  ;  and 
this  room  was  styled,  and  not  ostentatiously,  (for  it  really 
merited  that  name,)  the  library.  The  house  itself,  Greta 
Hall,  stood  upon  a  little  eminence,  (as  I  have  before 
mentioned,)  overhanging  the  river  Greta.  There  was 
nothing  remarkable  in  its  internal  arrangements  ;  in  all 
respects  it  was  a  very  plain,  unadorned  family  dwelling; 
large  enough,  by  a  little  contrivance,  to  accommodate  two, 
or,  in  some  sense,  three  families,  viz.,  Mr.  Southey,  and 
his  family;  Mr.  Coleridge  and  his;  together  with  Mrs. 
Lovell,  who,  when  her  son  was  with  her,  might  be  said  to 
cbmpose  a  third.  Mrs.  Coleridge,  Mrs.  Southey,  and  Mrs. 
Lovell,  were  sisters;  all  having  come  originally  from 
Bristol  ;  and,  as  the  different  sets  of  children  in  this  one 
house  had  each  three  several  aunts,  all  the  ladies,  by  turns 
assuming  that  relation  twice  over,  it  was  one  of  Southey's 
many  amusing  jests,  to  call  the  hill  on  which  Greta  Hall 
was  placed,  the  ant-hill.  Mrs.  Lovell  was  the  widow  of 
Mr.  Robert  Lovell,  who  had  published  a  volume  of  poems, 
in  conjunction  with  Southey,  somewhere  about  the  year 
1797,  under  the  signatures  of  Bion  and  Moschus.  This 
lady,  having  one  only  son,  did  not  require  any  large  suite 
of  rooms  ;  and  the  less  so,  as  her  son  quitted  her  at  an 
early  age,  to  pursue  a  professional  education.  The  house 
had,  therefore,  been  divided  (not  by  absolute  partition  into 
two  distinct*  apartments,  but  by  an  amicable  distribution 

*  '  Into  two  distinct  apartments.'  —  The  word  aparimenl,  nuMjiiiig,  ia 
effect,  a  comparUrient  of  a  house,  already  includes,  in  its  proper  sense,  a 
suite  of  rooms  ;  and  it  is  a  mere  vulgar  error,  arising  out  of  il'.e  amlii- 
tious  usage  of  lodging-house  keepers,  to  talk  of  one  family  or  an  eslab- 
lishmenl  occupying  apartments,  in  the  plural.  The  Queen's  apartment 
at  St.  James's  or  at  Versailles  —  not  the  (iueen's  apartments  —  is  the 
correct  expression. 


48  LITERACY    REMINISCENCES. 

of  rooms)  between  the  two  families  of  Mr.  Coleridge  and 
Mr.  Southey  ;  Mr.  Coleridge  had  a  separate  study,  which 
was  distinguished  by  nothing  except  by  an  organ  amongst 
its  furniture,  and  by  a  magnificent  view  from  its  window, 
(or  windows,)  if  that  could  be  considered  a  distinction,  in 
a  situation  whose  local  necessities  presented  you  vvith 
magnificent  objects  in  whatever  direction  you  might  hap- 
pen to  turn  your  eyes. 

In  the  morning,  the  two  families  might  live  apart ;  but 
they  met  at  dinner,  and  in  a  common  drawing-room  ;  and 
Southey's  library,  in  both  senses  of  the  word,  was  placed 
at  the  service  of  all  the  ladies  alike.  However,  they  did 
not  intrude  upon  him,  except  in  cases  where  they  wished 
for  a  larger  reception  room,  or  a  more  interesting  place 
for  suggesting  the  topics  of  conversation.  Interesting  this 
room  was,  indeed,  and  in  a  degree  not  often  rivalled.  The 
library  —  the  collection  of  books,  I  mean,  which  formed 
the  most  conspicuous  part  of  its  furniture  within  —  was  in 
all  senses  a  good  one.  The  books  were  chiefly  English, 
Spanish,  and  Portuguese  ;  well  selected,  being  the  great 
cardinal  classics  of  the  three  literatures  ;  fine  copies,  and 
decorated  externally  with  a  reasonable  elegance,  so  as  to 
make  them  in  harmony  with  the  other  embellishments  of 
the  room.  This  effect  was  aided  by  the  horizontal  ar- 
rangement upon  brackets,  of  many  rare  manuscripts  — 
Spanish  or  Portuguese.  Made  thus  gay  within,  this  room 
stood  in  little  need  of  attractions  from  without.  Yet,  even 
upon  the  gloomiest  day  of  winter,  the  landscape  from  the 
ditferent  windows  was  too  permanently  commanding  in  its 
grandeur,  too  essentially  independent  of  the  seasons  or  the 
pomp  of  woods,  to  fail  in  fascinating  the  gaze  of  the  cold- 
est and  dullest  of  spectators.  The  lake  of  Derwent  VVater 
in  one  direction,  wilh  its  lovely  islands —  a  lake  about  ten 
miles  in  circuit,  and  shaped  pretty  much  like  a  boy's  kite  ; 


SOUTHEY,    WORDSWORTH,    AND    COLERIDGE.  49 

the  lake  of  Bassinthwaite  in  another;  the  mountains  of 
Newlands  arranging  themselves  like  pavilions ;  the  gorge- 
ous confusion  of  Borrowdale  just  revealing  its  sublime 
chaos  through  the  narrow  vista  of  its  gorge  ;  all  these 
objects  lay  in  different  angles  to  the  front ;  whilst  the 
sullen  rear,  not  fully  visible  on  this  side  of  the  house, 
was  closed  for  many  a  league  by  the  vast  and  towering 
masses  of  Skiddaw  and  Biencathara  —  mountains  which 
are  rather  to  be  considered  as  frontier  barriers,  and  chains 
of  hilly  ground,  cutting  the  county  of  Cumberland  into 
great  chambers  and  different  climates,  than  as  insulated 
eminences,  so  vast  is  the  area  which  they  occupy;  though 
there  are  also  such  separate  and  insulated  heights,  and 
nearly  amongst  the  highest  in  the  country,  Southey's 
lot  had  therefore  fallen,  locally  considered,  into  a  goodly 
heritage.  This  grand  panorama  of  mountain  scenery,  so 
varied,  so  expansive,  and  yet  having  the  delightful  feeling 
about  it  of  a  deep  seclusion  and  dell-like  sequestration 
from  the  world  —  a  feeling  which,  in  the  midst  of  so 
expansive  an  area,  spread  out  below  his  windows,  could 
not  have  been  sustained  by  any  barriers  less  elevated  than 
Glaramara,  Skiddaw,  or  (which  could  be  also  descried) 
*  the  mighty  Helvellyn  and  Catchedicam  ; '  this  congrega- 
tion of  hill  and  lake,  so  wide,  and  yet  so  prison-like,  in  its 
separation  from  all  beyond  it,  lay  for  ever  under  the  eyes 
of  Southey.  His  position  locally,  and,  in  some  respects, 
intellectually,  reminded  one  of  Gibbon  :  but  with  great 
advantage  in  the  comparison  to  Southey.  The  little  town 
of  Keswick  and  its. adjacent  lake  bore  something  of  the 
same  relation  to  mighty  London  that  Geneva  and  its  lake 
may  be  thought  to  bear  towards  brilliant  Paris.  Southey, 
like  Gibbon,  was  a  miscellaneous  scholar;  he,  like  Gib- 
bon, of  vast  historical  research;  he,  like  Gibbon,  signally 
industrious,  and  patient,  and   elaborate   in  collecting  tho 

VOL.  II.  4 


50  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

materials  for  his  historical  works.  Like  Gibbon,  he  had 
dedicated  a  life  of  competent  ease,  in  a  pecuniary  sense, 
to  literature  ;  like  Gibbon,  he  had  gathered  to  the  shores 
of  a  beautiful  lake,  remote  from  great  capitals,  a  large, 
or,  at  least,  sufficient  library  ;  (in  each  case,  I  believe,  the 
library  ranged,  as  to  numerical  amount,  between  seven 
and  ten  thousand  ;)  and,  like  Gibbon,  he  was  the  most 
accomplished  litterateur  amongst  the  erudite  scholars  of 
his  time,  and  the  most  of  an  erudite  scholar  amongst  the 
accomplished  litterateurs.  After  all  these  points  of  agree- 
ment known,  it  remains  as  a  pure  advantage  on  the  side 
of  Southey  —  a  mere  lucro  ponatur  —  that  he  was  a  poet ; 
and,  by  all  men's  confession,  a  respectable  poet,  brilliant 
in  his  descriptive  powers,  and  fascinating  in  his  narration, 
however  much  he  might  want  of 

•  The  vision  and  the  faculty  divine.' 

It  is  remarkable  amongst  the  scries  of  parallelisms  that 
have  been  or  might  be  pui'sued  between  two  men,  both 
had  the  honor  of  retreating  from  a  parliamentary  life  ; 
Gibbon,  after  some  silent  and  inert  experience  of  that 
warfare ;  Southey,  with  a  prudent  foresight  of  the  ruin  to 
his  health  and  literary  usefulness,  won  from  the  experience 
of  his  nearest  friends. 

I  took  leave  of  Southey  in  1807,  at  the  descent  into  the 
vale  of  Legbesthwaite,  as  I  have  already  noticed.  One 
year  afterwards,  I  became  a  permanent  resident  in  his 
neighborhood  ;  and,  although,  on  various  accounts,  my 
intercourse  with  him  was  at  no  time  very  strict,  partly 
from  the  very  uncongenial  constitution  of  my  own  mind, 
and  the  different  direction  of  my  studies,  partly  from  my 
reluctance  to  levy  any  tax  on  time  so  precious  and  so  fully 
employed,  I  was  yet  on  such  terms  for  the  next  ten  or 


SOTTTHEY,    WORDSWORTH,   AND    COLERIDGE.  51 

eleven  years,  that  I  might,  in  a  qualified  sense,  call  myself 
his  friend. 

Yes  !  there  were  long  years  through  which  Southcy 
might  respect  me,  I  him.  But  the  years  came  —  for  I 
have  lived  too  long,  reader,  in  relation  to  many  things  ! 
and  the  report  of  me  would  have  been  better,  or  more 
uniform  at  least,  had  I  died  some  twenty  years  ago  —  the 
years  came,  in  which  circumstances  made  me  an  Opium- 
Eater;  years  through  which  a  shadow  as  of  sad.  eclipse 
sate  and  rested  upon  my  faculties;  years  through  which  I 
was  careless  of  all  but  those  who  lived  within  7ny  inner 
circle,  within  '  my  heart  of  hearts  ; '  years  —  ah  !  heaven- 
ly years  !  —  through  which  I  lived,  beloved,  with  thee,  to 
thee, for  thee,  by  thee!  Ah!  happy,  happy  years!  in 
which  I  was  a  mere  football  of  reproach,  but  in  which 
every  wind  and  sounding  hurricane  of  wrath  or  contempt 
flew  by  like  chasing  enemies  past  some  defying  gates  of 
adamant,  and  left  me  too  blessed  in  thy  smiles — angel  of 
life!  —  to  heed  the  curses  or  the  mocking  which  some- 
times I  heard  raving  outside  of  our  impregnable  Eden, 
What  any  man  said  of  me  in  those  days,  what  he  thoucht', 
did  I  ask  ?  did  I  care  ?  Then  it  was,  or  nearly  then,  that 
I  ceased  to  see,  ceased  to  hear  of  Southey ;  as  much  ab- 
stracted from  all  which  concerned  the  world  outside,  and 
from  the  Southeys,  or  even  the  Coleridges,  in  its  van,  as 
though  I  had  lived  with  the  darlings  of  my  heart  in  the 
centre  of  Canadian  forests,  and  all  men  else  in  the  centre 
of  Hindostan, 

But  before  I  part  from  Greta  Hall  and  its  distinguished 
master,  one  word  let  me  say,  to  protect  myself  from  the 
imputation  of  sharing  in  some  peculiar  opinions  of  Southcy 
with  respect  to  political  economy,  which  have  been  but 
too  familiar  to  the  world  ;  and  some  opinions  of  the  world, 
hardly  less  familiar,  with  respect  to  Southey  himself  and 


52  LITERARY    REMIMSCENCES. 

his  accomplishments.  Probably,  with  respect  to  the  first, 
before  this  paper  will  be  made  public,  I  shall  have  suffi- 
ciently vindicated  my  own  opinions  in  these  matters  by 
a  distinct  treatment  of  some  great  questions  which  lie  at 
the  base  of  all  sound  political  economy  ;  above  all,  the 
radical  question  of  value,  upon  which  no  man  has  ever 
seen  the  full  truth,  except  Mr.  Ricardo  ;  and,  unfortu- 
nately, he  had  but,  little  of  the  polemic  *  skill  which  is 
required  to  meet  the  errors  of  his  opponents.  For  it  is 
noticeable  that  the  most  conspicuous  of  those  opponents, 
viz.  Mr.  Malthus,  though  too  much,  I  fear,  actuated,  by  a 
spirit  of  jealousy,  and,  therefore,  likely  enough  to  have 
scattered  sophistry  and  disingenuous  quibbling  over  the 
subject,  had  no  need  whatever  of  any  further  confusion 
for  darkening  and  perplexing  his  themes  than  what  inevi- 
tably belonged  to  his  own  most  chaotic  understanding. 
He  and  Say,  the  Frenchman,  were  both  plagued  by  un- 
derstandings of  the  same  quality  —  having  a  clear  vision 
in  shallow  waters,  and  thus  misleading  them  into  the 
belief  that  they  saw  with  equal  clearness  through  the 
remote  and  the  obscure  ;  whereas,  universally,  their  acute- 
ness  is  like  that  o-f  Ilobbes  —  the  gift  of  shallowness,  and 
the  result  of  not  being  subtle  or  profound  enough  to  ap- 
prehend the  true  locus  of  the  difficulty  ;  and  the  barriers, 


*  ^  Polemic  slull.'  —  The  word  polemic  is  falsely  interpreted  by  tlie 
majority  of  mere  Ena;listi  readers.  Having  seldom  seen  it  used  except 
ill  a  ease  of  ilienlogiial  controversy,  they  (ai:(y  that  it  has  some  original 
ami  etymological  appropriation  to  sucii  a  use  ;  whereas  it  expresses, 
with  regard  to  all  siilijects,  without  restriction,  the  luiiciioiis  of  the 
debater  as  opposed  to  those  of  the  nrigirfal  orator ;  the  fuiiciioiis  of  him 
wiio  meets  error  and  unravels  confusion  or  misrepresentaiitin,  op|  osed  to 
those  of  him  who  lays  down  the  ahstract  truth  ;  truth  ahsohiie  and 
wilh'iut  relation  to  the  moJi«s  of  viewing  it.  As  well  might  the  word 
li.idicdl  Le  limited  to  a  political  use  as  Polemic  to  controversial  diviu- 
iiy. 


SOTITHEY,  WORDSWORTH,   AND   COLERIDGE.  53 

which  to  them  limit  the  view,  and  give  to  it,  together  with 
the  contraction,  all  the  distinctness  and  definite  outline  of 
limitation,  are,  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  the  product  of 
their  own  defective  and  aberrating  vision,  and  not  real 
barriers  at  all. 

Meantime,  until  I  write  fully  and  deliberately  upon  this 
subject,  I  shall  observe,  simply,  that  all  '  the  Lake  Poets,' 
as  they  are  called,  were  not  only  in  error,  but  most  pre- 
sumptuously in  error,  upon  these  subjects.  They  were 
ignorant  of  every  principle  belonging  to  every  question 
alike  in  political  economy,  and  they  were  obstinately  bent 
upon  learning  nothing  ;  they  were  all  alike  too  proud  to 
acknowledge  that  any  man  knew  better  than  they,  unless 
it  were  upon  some  purely  professional  subject,  or  some 
art  remote  from  all  intellectual  bearings,  such  as  conferred 
no  honor  in  its  possession.  Wordsworth  was  the  least 
tainted  with  error  upon  political  economy;  and  that 
because  he  rarely  applied  his  thoughts  to  any  question  of 
that  nature,  and,  in  fact,  despised  every  study  of  a  moral 
or  political  aspect,  unless  it  drew  its  materials  from  such 
revelations  of  truth  as  could  be  won  from  the  prima  phi- 
losophia  of  human  nature  approached  with  the  poet's  eye. 
Coleridge  was  the  one  whom  Nature  and  his  own  multi- 
farious studies  had  the  best  qualified  for  thinking  justly  on 
a  theme  such  as  this ;  but  he  also  was  shut  out  from  the 
possibility  of  knowledge  by  presumption,  and  the  habit  of 
despising  all  the  analytic  studies  of  his  own  day —  a  habit 
for  which  he  certainly  had  some  warrant  in  the  peculiar 
feebleness  of  all  that  has  offered  itself  for  philosophy  in 
modern  England.  In  particular,  the  religious  discussions 
of  the  age,  which  touch  inevitably  at  every  point  upon 
the  profounder  philosophy  of  man  and  his  constitution, 
had  laid  bare  the  weakness  of  his  own  age  to  Coleridge's 
eye ;  and,    because    all    was   hollow    and    trivial    in    this 


54  LITERARY   REMINISCENCES. 

direction,  he  chose  to  think  that  it  was  so  in  every  other. 
And  hence  he  has  laid  himself  open  to  the  just  scoffs  of 
persons  far  inferior  to  himself.  In  a  foot-note  in  some 
late  number  of  the  Westminster  Review,  it  is  most  truly- 
asserted,  (not  in  these  words,  but  to  this  effect,)  that 
Coleridge's  '  Table  Talk '  exhibits  a  superannuation  of 
error  fit  only  for  two  centuries  before.  And  what  gave 
peculiar  point  to  this  display  of  ignorance  was,  that  Cole- 
ridge did  not,  like  Wordsworth,  dismiss  political  economy 
from  his  notice  disdainfully,  as  a  puerile  tissue  of  truisms, 
or  of  falsehoods  not  less  obvious,  but  actually  addressed 
himself  to  the  subject :  fancied  he  had  made  discoveries 
in  the  science  ;  and  even  promised  us  a  systematic  work 
on  its  whole  compass. 

To  give  a  sample  of  this  new  and  reformed  political 
economy,  it  cannot  well  be  necessary  to  trouble  the  reader 
with  more  than  one  chimera  culled  from  those  which  Mr. 
Coleridge  first  brought  forward  in  his  early  model  of 
'  The  Friend.'  He  there  propounds,  as  an  original 
hypothesis  of  his  own,  that  taxation  never  burthens  a 
people,  or,  as  a  mere  possibility,  can  burthen  a  people, 
simply  by  its  amount.  And  why  ?  Surely  it  draws  from 
the  purse  of  him  who  pays  his  quota,  a  sum  which  may 
be  very  difficult  or  even  ruinous  for  him  to  pay,  were  it 
no  more  important  in  a  public  point  of  view  than  as  so 
much  deducted  from  his  own  unproductive  expenditure, 
and  which  may  happen  to  have  even  a  national  importance 
if  it  should  chance  to  be  deducted  from  the  funds  destined 
to  productive  industry.  What  is  Mr.  Coleridge's  answer 
to  these  little  objections  ?  Why,  thus  :  the  latter  case  he 
evades  entirely,  apparently  not  adverting  to  it  as  a  case  in 
any  respect  distinguished  from  the  other  ;  and  this  other 
—  how  is  that  answered  ?  Doubtless,  says  Mr.  Coleridge, 
it  may  be  inconvenient  to  John  or  Samuel  that  a  sum  of 


SOUTHEY,    WORDSWORTH,    AND    COLERIDGE.  55 

money,  otherwise  disposable  for  their  own  separate  uses, 
should  be  abstracted  for  the  purchase  of  bayonets,  or 
grape-shot;  but  with  this,  the  public,  the  commonwealth, 
have  nothing  to  do,  any  more  than  with  the  losses  at  a 
gaming-table,  where  A's  loss  is  B's  gain  —  the  total  funds 
of  the  nation  remaining  exactly  the  same.  It  is,  in  fact, 
nothing  but  the  accidental  distribution  of  the  funds  which 
is  affected  —  possibly  for  the  worse,  (no  other  'worse,' 
however,  is  contemplated  than  shifting  it  into  hands  less 
deserving,)  but,  also  by  possibility,  for  the  better;  and 
the  better  and  the  worse  may  be  well  supposed,  in  the 
long  run,  to  balance  each  other.  And  that  this  is  Mr. 
Coleridge's  meaning  cannot  be  doubted,  upon  looking 
into  his  illustrative  image  in  support  of  it :  he  says  that 
money  raised  by  Government  in  the  shape  of  taxes  is 
like  moisture  exhaled  from  the  earth  —  doubtless,  for  the 
moment  injurious  to  the  crops,  but  reacting  abundantly 
for  their  final  benefit  when  returning  in  the  shape  of 
showers.  So  natural,  so  obvious,  so  inevitable,  by  the 
way,  is  this  conceit,  (or,  to  speak  less  harshly,  this 
hypothesis,)  and  so  equally  natural,  obvious,  and' inevita- 
ble is  the  illustration  from  the  abstraction  and  restoration 
of  moisture,  the  exhalations  and  rains  which  affect  this 
earth  of  ours,  like  the  systole  and  diastole  of  the  heart, 
the  flux  and  reflux  of  the  ocean,  that  precisely  the  same 
doctrine,  and  precisely  the  same  exemplification  of  that 
doctrine,  is  to  be  found  in  a  Parliamentary  speech,*  of 
some  orator  in  the  famous  Long  Parliament,  about  the 
year  1642.  And  to  my  mind  it  was  a  bitter  humiliation 
to  find,  about  150  years  afterwards,  in  a  shallow  French 
work,  the  famous  '  Compte  Rendu  '  of  the  French  Chan- 

*  Reported  at  length  in  a  small  quarto  vo'ume  of  the  well  known 
quarto  size  so  much  in  use  for  Tracts,  Pamplilets,  &.C.,  throughout  the 
life  of  Millou—  1603-73. 


56  LITERAKY    REMINISCENCES. 

cellor  of  the  Exchequer,  (Comptroller  of  the  Finances)  — 
Neckar  —  in  that  work,  most  humiliating  it  was  to  me,  on 
a  certain  day,  that  I  found  this  idle  Coleridgian  fantasy, 
not  merely  repeated,  as  it  had  been  by  scores  —  not 
merely  anticipated  by  full  twenty  and  two  years,  so  that 
these  French  people  had  been  beforehand  with  him,  and 
had  made  Coleridge,  to  all  appearance,  their  plagiarist, 
but  also  (hear  it,  ye  gods !)  answered,  satisfactorily 
refuted,  by  this  very  feeble  old  sentimentalist,  Neckar. 
Yes;  positively  Neckar,  the  slipshod  old  system-fancier 
and  political  driveller,  had  been  so  much  above  falling 
into  the  shallow  snare,  that  he  had,  on  sound  principles, 
exposed  its  specious  delusions. 

Coleridge,  the  subtlest  of  men,  in  his  proper  walk,  had 
brought  forward,  as  a  novel  hypothesis  of  his  own,  in 
1810,  what  Neckar,  the  rickety  old  charlatan,  had  scarce- 
ly condescended,  in  a  hurried  foot-note,  to  expose  as  a 
vulgar  error  and  the  shallowest  of  sophisms,  in  1787-88. 
There  was  another  enormous  blunder  which  Coleridge 
was  constantly  authorizing,  both  in  his  writings  and  his 
conversation.  Quoting  a  passage  from  Sir  James  Stuart, 
in  which  he  speaks  of  a  vine-dresser  as  adding  nothing  to 
the  public  wealth,  unless  his  labor  did  something  more 
than  replace  his  own  consumption  —  that  is,  unless  it 
reproduced  it  together  with  a  profit ;  he  asks  contemp- 
tuously, whether  the  happiness  and  moral  dignity  that 
may  have  been  exhibited  in  the  vine-dresser's  family  are 
to  pass  for  nothing  ?  And  then  he  proceeds  to  abuse  the 
economists,  because  they  take  no  account  of  such  impor- 
tant considerations.  Doubtless  these  are  invaluable  ele- 
ments of  social  grandeur,  in  a  total  estimate  of  those 
elements.  But  what  has  political  economy  to  do  with 
them,  a  science  openly  professing  to  insulate  and  to  treat 
apart  from  all  other  constituents  of  national  well-being, 


SOUTHEY,    WORDSWORTH,    AND    COLERIDGE.  57 

those  which  concern  the  production  and  circulation  of 
Aveahh  ?  *  So  far  from  gaininjr  anything  by  enlarging  its 
field  in  the  way  demanded  by  CoIcr:dge''s  critic,  political 
economy  would  be  as  idly  travelling  out  of  the  limits  indi- 
cated and  held  forth  in  its  very  name,  as  if  logic  were  to 
teach  ethics,  or  ethics  to  teach  diplomacy.  With  re- 
spect to  the  Malthusian  doctrine  of  population,  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  know  who  was  the  true  proprietor  of  the  argu- 
ments urged  against  it  sometimes  by  Southey,  sometimes 
by  Coleridge.  Those  used  by  Southey  are  chiefly  to  be 
found  up  and  down  the  Quarterly  Review.  But  a  more 
elaborate  attack  was  published  by  Hazlitt  ;  and  this  must 
be  supposed  to  speak  the  peculiar  objections  of  Coleridge, 
for  he  was  in  the  habit  of  charging  Hazlitt  with  havinff 
pillaged  his  conversation,  and  occasionally  garbled  it 
throughout  the  whole  of  this  book.  One  single  argument 
there  was,  undoubtedly  just,  and  it  was  one  which  others 
stumbled  upon  no  less  than  Coleridge,  exposing  the  falla- 
cy of  the  supposed  different  laws  of  increase  for  vegetable 
and  animal  life.     But  though   this   frail    prop  withdrawn 

*  la  fact,  the  exposure  is  as  perfect  in  the  case  of  an  individual  as  in 
that  of  a  nation,  and  more  easil5^  apprehended.  Levy  from  an  individual 
clothier  £loOO  in  taxes,  and  afterwards  reiurn  to  him  the  whole  of  this 
sum  in  payment  for  the  clothing  of  a  reg-iment.  Then,  supposing  profits 
to  he  at  the  rate  of  15  per  cent.,  he  will  have  replaced  £,loO  of  his  pre- 
vious loss  ;  even  his  gains  will  simply  reinstate  him  in  something  that 
he  had  lost,  and  the  remaining  £^50  will  continue  to  he  a  dead  loss  ; 
since  the  £SoO  restored  to  him,  exactly  replaces,  hy  the  terms  of  this 
case,  his  dishursemenls  in  wages  and  materials  ;  if  it  did  more,  profits 
would  not  he  at  15  per  cent.,  according  to  the  supposition  But  Govern- 
ment may  spend  more  than  the  £lOOO  with  this  clothier  ;  they  may 
spend  j£lO,OUO.  Douhtless.  and  in  that  case,  on  the  same  supposition  as 
to  profits,  he  will  receiv'e  jEisoo  as  a  nominal  gain  ;  and  £500  will  he  a 
real  gain,  marked  with  the  positive  sign,(+.)  Hut  such  a  case  would 
only  prove,  that  nine  other  tax-payers,  to  an  equfil  amount,  had  hecn  left 
■without  any  reimhursemenl  at  all.  Strange,  that  so  clear  a  case  for  an 
individual,  should  hecome  obscure  when  it  regards  a  nation. 


58  LITERARY    KEMINISCENCES. 

took  away  from  Mr.  Maltbus's  theory  all  its  scientific 
rigor,  the  main  practical  conclusions  were  still  valid  as 
respected  any  argument  from  the  lakers  ;  for  the  strongest 
of  these  arguments  that  ever  came  to  my  knowledge  was 
a  mere  appeal  —  not  ad  verecundiam,  in  the  ordinary 
sense  of  the  phrase,  but  ad  honestalem,  as  if  it  were 
shocking  to  the  honestum  of  Roman  ethics,  (the  honnetete 
of  French  minor  ethics,)  that  the  check  derived  from  self- 
restraint  should  not  be  supposed  amply  competent  to  re- 
dress all  the  dangers  from  a  redundant  population,  under 
any  certain  knowledge  generally  diffused  that  such  dan- 
gers existed.  But  these  are  topics  which  it  is  sufficient  in 
this  place  to  have  noticed,  currenie  calamo.  I  was  anx- 
ious however  to  protest  against  the  probable  imputation, 
that  I,  because  generally  so  intense  an  admirer  of  these 
men,  adopted  their  blind  and  hasty  reveries  in  political 
economy. 

There  were  (and  perhaps  more  justly  T  might  say  there 
are)  two  other  notions  currently  received  about  Southey, 
one  of  which  is  altogether  erroneous,  and  the  other  true 
only  in  a  limited  sense.  The  first  is,  the  belief  that  he 
belonged  to  what  is  known  as  the  lake  school  in  poetry  ; 
with  respect  to  which  all  that  I  need  say  in  this  place,  is 
involved  in  his  own  declaration  frankly  made  to  myself  in 
Easedale,  during  the  summer  of  1812  ;  that  he  considered 
Wordsworth's  theory  of  poetic  diction,  and  still  more  his 
principles  as  to  the  selection  of  subjects,  and  as  to  what 
constituted  a  poetic  treatment,  as  founded  on  error. 
There  is  certainly  some  community  of  phraseology  ' 
between  Southey  and  the  other  lakers,  naturally  arising 
J  out  of  their  joint  reverence  for  Scriptural  language  :  this 
'  I  was  a  field  in  which  they  met  in  common:  else  it  shows 
but  little  discernment  and  power  of  valuing  the  essences 
of  things,  to   have  classed   Southey  in  the  same  school 


SOUTHEY,    WORDSWORTH,    AND    COLERIDGE.  59 

with  Wordsworth  and  Coleridge.  The  other  popular 
notion  ahout  Southey,  which  I  conceive  to  be  expressed 
with  much  too  little  limitation,  regards  his  style.  He  has 
been  praised,  and  justly,  for  his  plain,  manly,  unafTected 
English,  until  the  parrot  echoers  of  other  men's  judg- 
ments, who  adopt  all  they  relish  with  undistinguishing 
blindness,  have  begun  to  hold  him  up  as  a  great  master 
of  his  own  language,  and  a  classical  model  of  fine 
composition.  Now,  if  the  error  were  only  in  the  degree, 
it  would  not  be  worth  while  to  notice  it ;  but  the  truth  is, 
that  Southey's  defects  in  this  particular  power,  are  as 
striking  as  his  characteristic  graces.  Let  a  subject  arise 
—  and  almost  in  any  path,  there  is  a  ready  possibility 
that  it  should  —  in  which  a  higher  tone  is  required,  of 
splendid  declamation,  or  of  impassionate  fervor,  and 
Southey's  style  will  immediately  betray  its  want  of  the 
loftier  qualities  as  flagrantly  as  it  now  asserts  its  powers 
in  that  unpretending  form,  which  is  best  suited  to  his  level 
character  of  writing  and  his  humbler  choice  of  themes. 
It  is  to  mistake  the  character  of  Southey's  mind,  which 
is  elevated  but  not  sustained  by  the  higher  modes  of 
enthusiasm,  to  think  otherwise.  Were  a  magnificent 
dedication  required,  moving  with  a  stately  and  measured 
solemnity,  and  putting  forward  some  majestic  pretensions, 
arising  out  of  a  long  and  laborious  life  ;  were  a  pleading 
required  against  some  capital  abuse  of  the  earth  —  war, 
slavery,  oppression  in  its  thousand  forms ;  were  a  Defen- 
sio  pro  Populo  Anglicano  required ;  Southey's  is  not  the 
mind,  and,  by  a  necessary  consequence,  Southey's  is  not 
the  style,  for  carrying  such  purposes  into  full  and 
memorable  effect.  His  style  is  therefore  good,  because 
it  has  been  suited  to  his  themes ;  and  those  themes  have 
hitherto  been  either  narrative,  which  usually  imposes  a 
modest  diction,  and   a  modest  structure  of  sentences,  or 


60  LITEKARY    EEBIINISCENCES. 

argumentative  in  that  class  which  is  too  overburthened 
with  details,  with  replies,  with  interruption,  and  every 
mode  of  discontinuity,  to  allow  a  thought  of  eloquence, 
or  of  the  periodic  style  which  a  perfect  eloquence  instinc- 
tively seeks. 

I  here  close  my  separate  notice  of  the  Lake  Poets  — 
meaning  those  three  who  were  originally  so  denominated 
—  three  men  upon  whom  posterity,  in  every  age,  will 
look  back  with  interest  as  profound  as,  perhaps,  belongs 
to  any  other  names  of  our  era ;  for  it  happens,  not 
unfrequently,  that  the  personal  interest  in  the  author  is 
not  in  the  direct  ratio  of  that  which  belongs  to  his  works: 
and  the  character  of  an  author,  better  qualified  to  com- 
mand a  vast  popularity  for  the  creations  of  his  pen,  is 
oftentimes  more  of  a  universal  character,  less  peculiar, 
less  fitted  to  stimulate  the  curiosity,  or  to  sustain  the 
sympathy  of  the  intellectual,  than  the  profounder  and 
more  ascetic  solemnity  of  a  Wordsworth,  or  the  prodigal 
and  magnificent  eccentricities  of  a  Coleridge.  With 
respect  to  both  of  these  gifted  men,  some  interesting 
notices  still  remain  in  arrear ;  but  these  will  more 
properly  come  forward  in  their  natural  places,  as  they 
happen  to  arise  in  after  years  in  connection  with  my 
own  memoirs. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

RECOLLECTIONS   OF   GRASMERE. 

I  NOW  resume  my  memoirs,  from  the  moment  of  my 
leaving  VVordsworth's  cottage,  after  one  week  of  delight- 
ful intercourse  with  him  and  his  sister,  about  the  twelfth  of 
November,  1807. 

Soon  after  my  return  to  Oxford,  I  received  a  letter  from 
Miss  Wordsworth,  asking  for  any  subscriptions  I  might 
succeed  in  obtaining,  amongst  my  college  friends,  in  aid 
of  the  funds  then  raising  in  behalf  of  an  orphan  family, 
who  had  become  such  by  an  affecting  tragedy  that  had 
occurred  within  a  few  weeks  from  my  visit  to  Grasmere. 

This  calamitous  incident,  interesting  for  itself  as  well 
as  for  having  drawn  forth  some  beautiful  stanzas  from 
Wordsworth,  had  a  separate  and  peculiar  importance  in 
reference  to  my  own  life  —  having  been  the  remote  occa- 
sion of  another  misfortune  that  brought  to  myself  the  first 
deep  draught  from  the  cup  of  sorrow  which  it  was  des- 
tined that  I  should  drink.  Miss  Wordsworth  drew  up  a 
brief  memoir  of  the  whole  affair.  This,  I  believe,  went 
into  the  hands  of  the  royal  family ;  at  any  rate,  the 
august  ladies  of  that  house  (all  or  some  of  them)  were 
amongst  the  many  subscribers  to  the  orphan  children  ; 
and  it  must  be  satisfactory  to  all  who  shared,  and  happen 
to  recollect  their  own  share  in  that  seasonable  work  of 
charity,  that  the  money  then  collected  under  the  auspices 
of   the    Wordsworths,    proved    sufficient,    with   judicious 


62  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

administration  and  superintendence  from  a  committee  of 
the  neiffhborino;  ladies  in  Ambleside,  to  educate  and  settle 
respectably,  in  useful  callings,  the  whole  of  a  very  large 
family,  not  one  of  whom,  to  my  knowledge,  has  fared 
otherwise  than  prosperously,  or,  to  speak  of  the  very  low- 
est case,  decently  in  their  subsequent  lives,  as  men  and 
women,  long  since  surrounded  by  children  of  their  own. 
Miss  Wordsworth's  simple  but  fervid  memoir  not  being 
within  my  reach  at  this  moment,  I  must  trust  to  my  own 
recollections  and  my  own  less  personal  impressions  to 
retrace  the  story  ;  which,  after  all,  is  not  much  of  a  story 
to  excite  or  to  impress,  unless  for  those  who  can  find  a 
sufficient  interest  in  the  trials  and  unhappy  fate  of  hard- 
working peasants,  and  can  reverence  the  fortitude  which, 
being  lodged  in  so  frail  a  tenement  as  the  person  of  a  little 
girl,  not  much,  if  anything,  above  nine  years  old,  could 
face  an  occasion  of  sudden  mysterious  abandonment  —  of 
uncertain  peril  —  and  could  tower  up,  during  one  night, 
into  the  perfect  energies  of  womanhood  —  energies  unsus- 
pected even  by  herself — under  the  mere  pressure  of  diffi- 
culty, and  the  sense  of  new-born  responsibilities  awfully 
bequeathed  to  her,  and  in  the  most  lonely,  perhaps,  of  all 
English  habitations. 

The  little  valley  of  Easedale,  which,  and  the  neighbor- 
hood of  which,  were  the  scenes  of  these  interesting  events, 
is,  on  its  own  account,  one  of  the  most  impressive  soli- 
tudes amongst  the  mountains  of  the  lake  district;  and  I 
must  pause  to  describe  it.  Easedale  is  impressive,  firsts 
as  a  solitude  ;  for  the  depth  of  the  seclusion  is  brought 
out  and  forced  more  pointedly  upon  the  feelings  by  the 
thin  scattering  of  houses  over  its  sides,  and  the  surface  of 
what  may  be  called  its  floor.  These  are  not  above  five  or 
six  at  the  most ;  and  one,  the  remotest  of  the  whole,  was 
untenanted  for  all   the  thirty  years  of  my  acquaintance 


RECOLLECTIONS    OF    GRASMERE.  63 

with  the  place.  Secondly,  it  is  impressive  from  the  exces- 
sive loveliness  which  adorns  its  little  area.  This  is  broken 
up  into  small  fields  and  miniature  meadows,  separated  not 
—  as  too  often  happens,  with  sad  injury  to  the  beauty  of 
the  lake  country  —  by  stone  walls,  but  sometimes  by  little 
hedge-rows,  sometimes  by  little  sparkling,  pebbly  '  beck,' 
lustrous  to  the  very  bottom,  and  not  too  broad  for  a  child's 
flying  leap  ;  and  sometimes  by  wild  self-sown  woodlands 
of  birch,  alder,  holly,  mountain  ash,  and  liazcl,  that  mean- 
der through  the  valley,  intervening  the  different  estates 
with  natural  sylvan  marches,  and  giving  cheerfulness  in 
winter,  by  the  bright  scarlet  of  their  barrier.  It  is  the 
character  of  all  the  northern  English  valleys,  as  I  have 
already  remarked  —  and  it  is  a  character  first  noticed  by 
Wordsworth,  that  thev  assume,  in  their  bottom  areas, 
the  level  floor-like  shape,  making  everywhere  a  direct 
angle  with  the  surrounding  hills,  and  definitely  marking 
out  the  margin  of  their  outlines  ;  whereas  the  Welsh  val- 
leys have  too  often  the  glaring  imperfection  of  the  basin 
shape,  which  allows  no  sense  of  any  absolute  valley  sur- 
face :  the  hills  are  already  commencing  at  the  very  centre 
of  what  is  called  the  level  area.  The  little  valley  of 
Easedale  is,  in  this  respect,  as  highly  finished  as  in  every 
other ;  and  in  the  Westmoreland  spring,  which  may  be 
considered  May  and  the  earlier  half  of  June,  whilst  the 
grass  in  the  meadows  is  yet  short  from  the  habit  of  keep- 
ingthe  sheep  on  it  until  a  much  later  period  than  elsewhere, 
(viz.,  until  the  mountains  are  so  far  cleared  of  snow,  and 
the  probability  of  storms,  as  to  make  it  safe  to  send  them 
out  on  their  summer  migration,)  the  little  fields  in  Ease- 
dale  have  the  most  lawny  appearance,  and,  from  the 
humidity  of  the  Westmoreland*  climate,  the  most  verdant 

*  It  is  pretty  generally  known,  perhaps,  that  Westmoreland  and  Devon- 
shire are  the  two  rainiest  couiuiys  iu  England.    At  Kirkby,  Lonsdale, 


/ 


f/^^ 


64  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

that  it  is  possible  to  imagine  ;  and  on  a  gentle  vernal  day 
—  when  vegetation  has  been  far  enough  advanced  to  bring 
out  the  leaves,  an  April  sun  gleaming  coyly  through  the 
clouds,  and  genial  April  rain  gently  pencilling  the  light 
spray  of  the  wood  with  tiny  pearl  drops  —  I  have  often 
thought,  whilst  looking  with  silent  admiration  upon  this 
exquisite  composition  of  landscape,  with  its  miniature 
fields  running  up  like  forest  glades  into  miniature  woods; 
its  little  columns  of  smoke,  breathing  up  like  incense  to 
the  household  gods,  from  the  hearths  of  two  or  three  pic- 
turesque cottages  —  abodes  of  simple  primitive  manners, 
and  what,  from  personal  knowledge,  I  will  call  humble 
virtue  —  whilst  my  eyes  rested  on  this  charming  combina- 
tion of  lawns  and  shrubberies,  I  have  thought  that,  if  a 
scene  on  this  earth  could  deserve  to  be  sealed  up,  like  the 
valley  of  Russelas,  against  the  intrusion  of  the  world  — 
if  there  were  one  to  which  a  man  would  willingly  surren- 
der himself  a  prisoner  for  the  years  of  a  long  life  —  that 
it  is  this  Easedale  —  which  would  justify  the  choice,  and 
recompense  the  sacrifice.  I?ut  there  is  a  third  advantage 
possessed  by  tliis  Easedale,  above  other  rival  valleys,  in 
the  sublimity  of  its  mountain  barriers.  In  one  of  its  many 
rocky  recesses  is  seen  a  '  force,'  (such  is  the  local  name 
for  a  cataract,)  white  with  foam,  descending  at  all  seasons 
with  respectable  strength,  and,  after  the  melting  of  snows, 
with  an  Alpine  violence.  Follow  the  leading  of  this 
*  force'  for  three  quarters  of  a  mile,  and  you  come  to  a 
little  mountain  lake,  locally  termed  a  '  tarn,'  *  .the  very 


lyiiia;  j'iU'>:i  i'\e  ou'er  rnirnri:i  nftlie  F/ike  district,  o;ic  fifih  more  rain  is 
coiiipiileil  Id  Tdl  than  in  ih"  ii  ijiicenl  iou;ities  oii  the  same  side  of  Eng- 
land. Fiiii  ii  is  also  nntdiious,  iliii  the  western  side  of  the  island  uni- 
versally is  more  rauiy  than  ihe  east.  Collins  calls  ii  I  lie  Sliowery  VVcst. 
*  A  tani  1^  a  lake,  I'enerally  (indeed  always)  a  small  onv  :  and  s'lways, 
as  1  think  (hut  this  I  have  heard  disputed,)  lying  ahove  the  livul  of  the 


KECOLLECTIONS    OF    GRASMERE.  65 

finest  and  most  gloonny  sublime  of  its  class.  From  this 
tarn  it  was,  I  doubt  not,  though  applying  it  to  another, 
that  Wordsworth  drew  the  circumstances  of  his  general 
description  :  — 

'  Thither  the  rainbow  comes,  the  cloud, 
And  mists  that  spread  the  flying  shroud  ; 

And  winds 
That,  if  they  could,  would  hurry  past : 
But  that  enormous  barrier  binds  it  fast. 

&c.  &c.  &c. 

The  rocks  repeat  the  raven's  croak. 
In  symphony  austere.' 

And  far  beyond  this  '  enormous  barrier,'  that  thus  imprisons 
the  very  winds,  tower  upwards  the  aspiring  heads  (usually 
enveloped  in  cloud  and  mist)  of  Glaramara,  Bow  Fell, 
and  the  other  fells  of  Langdale  Head  and  Borrowdale. 
Finally,  superadded  to  the  other  circumstances  of  solitude, 
arising  out  of  the  rarity  of  human  life,  and  of  the  signs 
which  mark  the  goings  on  of  human  life  —  two  other  acci- 
dents there  are  of  Easedale,  which  sequester  it  from  the 
world,  and  intensify  its  depth  of  solitude  beyond  what 
could  well  be  looked  for  or  thought  possible  in  any  vale 
within  a  district  so  beaten  by  modern  tourists.  One  is, 
that  it  is  a  chamber  within  a  chamber,  or  rather  a  closet 
within  a  chamber  —  a  chapel  within  a  cathedral  —  a  little 
private  oratory  within  a  chapel.  For  Easedale  is,  in  fact, 
a  dependency  of  Grasmere  —  a  little  recess  lying  within 
the  same  general  basin  of  mountains,  but  partitioned  off 
by  a  screen  of  rock  and  swelling  uplands,  so  inconsidera- 

inhabited  valleys  and  the  large  lakes  ;  and  subject  to  this  further  con- 
dition, as  first  noticed  by  Wordsworth,  that  it  has  no  main  feeder. 
Now,  this  latter  accident  of  the  tarn  at  once  explains  and  authenticates 
my  account  of  the  word,  viz.  —  that  it  is  the  Danish  word  taaren,  (a 
trickling  ;)  a  deposit  of  waters  from  the  weeping  of  rain  down  the 
smooth  faces  of  the  rocks. 

VOL.  II.  5 


66  LITERARY   REMINISCENCES. 

ble  in  height,  that,  when  surveyed  from  the  commanding 
summits  of  Fairfield  or  Seat  Sandal,  they  seem  to  subside 
into  the  level  area,  and  melt  into  the   general  surface. 
But,  viewed  from  below,  these  petty  heights  form  a  suffi- 
cient partition ;  which  is  pierced,  however,  in  two  points 
—  once  by  the  little  murmuring  brook  threading  its  silvery 
line  onwards  to  the  lake  of  Grasmere,  and  again  by  a  little 
rough  lane,  barely  capable  (and  I  think  not  capable  in  all 
points)  of  receiving  a  post-chaise.     This  little  lane  keeps 
ascending  amongst  wooded  steeps  for  a  quarter  of  a  mile  ; 
and  then,  by  a  downward  course  of  a  hundred  yards  or  so, 
brings  you  to  a  point  at  which  the  little  valley  suddenly 
bursts  upon  you  with  as  full  a  revelation  of  its  tiny  propor- 
tions, as  the  traversing  of  the  wooded  back-grounds  will 
permit.     The  lane  carries  you  at  last  to  a  little   wooden 
bridge,   practicable    for   pedestrians ;    but,  for   carriages, 
even  the   doubtful  road,  already  mentioned,  ceases  alto- 
gether :  and  this  fact,  coupled  with  the  difficulty  of  sus- 
pecting such  a  lurking  paradise  from  the  high  road  through 
Grasmere,  at  every  point  of  which  the  little  hilly  partition 
crowds  up  into  one  mass  with  the  capital  barriers  in  the 
rear,  seeming,  in  fact,  not  so  much  to  blend  with  them  as 
to  be  a  part  of  them,  may  account  for  the  fortunate  neg- 
lect of  Easedale  in  the  tourist's  route  ;  and  also  because 
there  is  no  one  separate  object,  such  as  a  lake  or  a  splen- 
did cataract,  to  bribe  the  interest  of  those  who  are  hunting 
after  sights  ;  for  the  'force'  is  comparatively  small,  and 
the  tarn  is  beyond  the  limits  of  the  vale,  as  well  as  difficult 
of  approach. 

One  other  circumstance  there  is  about  Easedale,  which 
completes  its  demarcation,  and  makes  it  as  entirely  aland- 
locked  little  park,  within  a  ring-fence  of  mountains,  as 
ever  human  art,  if  rendered  capable  of  dealing  with 
mountains  and  their  arrangement,  could  have  contrived. 


RECOLLECTIONS    OF    GRASMEIIE.  67 

The  sole  approach,  as  I  have  mentioned,  is  from  Gras- 
mere  ;  and  some  o?ie  outlet  there  must  inevitably  be  in 
every  vale  that  can  be  interesting  to  a  human  occupant, 
since  without  water  it  would  not  be  habitable  :  and  runninjx 
water  must  force  an  exit  for  itself,  and,  consequently,  an 
inlet  for  the  world ;  but,  properly  speaking,  there  is  no 
other.  For,  when  you  explore  the  remoter  end  of  the 
vale,  at  which  you  suspect  some  communication  with  the 
w^orld  outside,  you  find  before  you  a  most  formidable 
amount  of  climbing,  the  extent  of  which  can  hardly  be 
measured  where  there  is  no  solitary  object  of  human  work- 
manship or  vestige  of  animal  life,  not  a  sheep-track  even, 
not  a  shepherd's  hovel,  but  rock  and  heath,  heath  and 
rock,  tossed  about  in  monotonous  confusion.  And,  after 
the  ascent  is  mastered,  you  descend  into  a  second  vale  — 
long,  narrow,  sterile,  known  by  the  name  of  '  Far  Ease- 
dale  : '  from  which  point,  if  you  could  drive  a  tunnel 
below  the  everlasting  hills,  perhaps  six  or  seven  miles 
might  bring  you  to  the  nearest  habitation  of  man,  in  Bor- 
rowdale :  but,  crossing  the  mountains,  the  road  cannot  be 
less  than  twelve  or  fourteen,  and,  in  point  of  fatigue,  at  the 
least  twenty.  This  long  valley,  which  is  really  terrific  at 
noon-day,  from  its  utter  loneliness  and  desolation,  com- 
pletes the  defences  of  little  sylvan  Easedale.  'There  is 
one  door  into  it  from  the  Grasmere  side  ;  but  that  door  is 
hidden;  and  on  every  other  quarter  there  is  no  door  at  all, 
nor  any,  the  roughest,  access,  but  what  would  demand  a 
day's  walking. 

Such  is  the  solitude  —  so  deep,  so  sevcntimcs  guarded, 
and  so  rich  in  miniature  beauty  —  of  Easedale;  and  in 
this  solitude  it  was  that  George  and  Sarah  Green,  two 
poor  and  hard-working  peasants,  dwelt,  with  a  numerous 
family  of  small  children.  Poor  as  they  were,  they  had 
won  the  general  respect  of  the  neighborhood,  from  the 


68  LITERAKY    REMINISCENCES. 

uncomplaining  firmness  with  which  they  bore  the  hard- 
ships of  their  lot,  and  from  the  decent  attire  in  which  the 
good    mother   of  the    family   contrived    to  send  out  her 
children  to  the  Grasmere  school.     It  is  a  custom,  and  &. 
very  ancient  one,  in  Westmoreland  —  and  I  have  seen  the 
same  usage  prevailing  in   southern  Scotland — that  any 
sale  by  auction,  whether  of  cattle,  of  farming  produce, 
farming  stock,  wood,  or  household  furniture  — and  seldom 
a  fortnight  passes  without  something  of  the  sort  —  forms 
an   excuse   for   the   good  women,  throughout  the  whole 
circumference  of  perhaps  a  dozen  valleys,  to  assemble  at 
the  place  of  sale  with  the  nominal  purpose  of  aiding  the 
sale,  or  of  buying  something  they  may  happen  to  want. 
No  doubt  the  real  business  of  the  sale  attracts  numbers ; 
although  of  late  years  —  that  is,  for  the  last  twenty-five 
years,  through  which  so  many  sales  of  furniture  the  most 
expensive,  (hastily  made  by  casual  settlers,  on  the  wing 
for  some  fresher  novelty,)  —  have   made  this  particular 
article  almost  a  drug  in  the  country  ;  and  the  interest  in 
such  sales  has  greatly  declined.     But,  in  1807,  this  fever 
of   founding    villas    or    cottages    ornees,    was   yet   only 
beginning;  and  a  sale,  except  it  were  of  the  sort  exclu- 
sively interesting  to  farming  men,  was  a  kind  of  general 
intimation  to  the  country,  from  the  owner  of  the  property, 
that  he  would,  on  that  afternoon,  be  '  at  home '   for  all 
comers,  and   hoped   to   see   as   large    an   attendance  as 
possible.      Accordingly,   it   was    the    almost    invariable 
custom  —  and   often,  too,  when  the  parties  were  far  too 
poor  for  such  an  effort  of  hospitality — to   make  ample 
provision,  not  of  eatables,  but  of  liquor,  for  all  who  came. 
Even  a  gentleman,  who  should  happen  to  present  himself 
on  such  a  festal  occasion,  by  way  of  seeing  the  '  humors' 
of  the  scene,  was  certain  of  meeting  the   most  cordial 
welcome.     The  good  woman  of  the  house  more  particu- 


RECOLLECTIONS    OF    GRASMERE.  69 

larly  testified  her  sense  of  the  honor  done  to  her  house, 
and  was  sure  to  seek  out  some  cherished  and  solitary- 
article  of  china  —  a  wreck  from  a  century  hack  —  in 
order  that  he,  being  a  porcelain  man  amongst  so  many 
deaf  men  and  women,  might  have  a  porcelain  cup  to 
drink  from. 

The  main  secret  of  attraction  at  these  sales  —  many  a 
score  of  which  I  have  attended  —  was  the  social  rendez- 
vous thus  effected  between  parties  so  remote  from  each 
other,  (either  by  real  distance,  or  by  the  virtual  distance 
which  results  from  a  separation  by  difficult  tracts  of  hilly 
country,)  that,  in  fact,  without  some  such  common  object, 
and  oftentimes  something  like  a  bisection  of  the  interval 
between  them,  they  would  not  be  likely  to  hear  of  each 
other  for  months,  or  actually  to  meet  for  years.     This 
principal  charm   of  the  '  gathering,'  seasoned,  doubtless, 
to  many  by  the  certain  anticipation  that  the  whole  budget 
of  rural  scandal  would  then  and  there  be  opened,  was  not 
assuredly   diminished   to  the  men   by  the  anticipation  of 
excellent  ale,  (usually  brewed  six  or  seven  weeks  before, 
in  preparation  for  the  event,)  and  possibly  of  still  more 
excellent  poio-soiody,  (a  combination  of  ale,  spirits,  and 
spices ;)    nor   to   the   women    by   some   prospect,  not  so 
inevitably  fulfilled,  but  pretty  certain  in  a  liberal  house, 
of  communicating  their  news  over  excellent  tea.     Even 
the   auctioneer   was   always   '  part   and   parcel '   of    the 
mirth  ;  he  was  always  a  rustic  old  humorist,  a  '  character,' 
and  a  jovial  drunkard,  privileged  in  certain  good-humored 
liberties  and  jokes  with  all  bidders,  gentle  or  simple,  and 
furnished  with  an  ancient  inheritance  of  jests  appropriate 
to  the  articles  offered  for  sale — jests  that  had,  doubtless, 
done  their  office  from   Elizabeth's  golden   days;   but  no 
more,  on   that   account,  failed   of  their  expected  effect, 
with    either  man  or  woman  of  this   nineteenth   century, 


70  LITERARY   REMINISCENCES. 

than  the  sun  fails  to  gladden  the  heart  because  it  is  that 
same  old  obsolete  sun  that  has  gladdened  it  for  thousands 
of  years. 

One  thing,  however,  in  mere  justice  to  the  poor 
indigenous  Dalesmen  of  Westmoreland  and  Cumberland, 
I  am  bound,  in  this  place,  to  record,  that,  often  as  I  have 
been  at  these^  sales,  and  through  many  a  year  before  even 
a  scattering  of  gentry  began  to  attend,  yet  so  true  to  the 
natural  standard  of  politeness  was  the  decorum  uniformly 
maintained,  even  the  old  buffoon  (as  sometimes  he  was) 
of  an  auctioneer  never  forgot  himself  so  far  as  to  found 
upon  any  article  of  furniture  a  jest  that  could  have  called 
up  a  painful  blush  in  any  woman's  face.  He  might,  per- 
haps, go  so  far  as  to  awaken  a  little  rosy  confusion  upon 
some  young  bride's  countenance,  when  pressing  a  cradle 
upon  her  attention  :  but  never  did  I  hear  him  utter,  nor 
would  he  have  been  tolerated  in  uttering  a  scurrilous  or 
disgusting  jest,  such  as  might  easily  have  been  suggested 
by  something  offered  at  a  household  sale.  Such  jests  as 
these  I  heard,  for  the  first  time,  at  a  sale  in  Grasmere 
in  1814;  and,  I  am  ashamed  to  say  it,  from  some 
*  gentlemen  '  of  a  great  city.  And  it  grieved  me  to  see 
the  effect,  as  it  expressed  itself  upon  the  manly  faces  of 
the  grave  Dalesmen — a  sense  of  insult  offered  to  their 
women,  who  met  in  confiding  reliance  upon  the  forbear- 
ance of  the  men,  and  upon  their  regard  for  the  dignity  of 
the  female  sex,  this  feeling  struggling  with  the  habitual 
respect  they  are  inclined  to  show  towards  what  they 
suppose  gentle  blood  and  superior  education.  Taken 
generally,  however,  these  were  the  most  picturesque  and 
festal  meetings  which  the  manners  of  the  country  pro- 
duced. There  you  saw  all  ages  and  both  sexes  assem- 
bled :  there  you  saw  old  men  whose  heads  would  have 
been  studies  for  Guido  :  there  you  saw  the  most  colossal 


KECOLLECTIONS  OF  GKASMERE.  71 

and  stately  figures  amongst  the  young  men  that  Eng- 
land has  to  show ;  there  the  most  beautiful  young  women. 
There  it  was  that  sometimes  I  saw  a  lovelier  face  than 
ever  I  shall  see  again:  there  it  was  that  local  peculiarities 
of  usage  or  of  language  were  best  to  be  studied  ;  there  — 
at  least  in  the  earlier  years  of  my  residence  in  that 
district  —  that  the  social  benevolence,  the  grave  wisdom, 
the  innocent  mirth,  and  the  neighborly  kindness  of  the 
people,  most  delightfully  expanded  and  expressed  them- 
selves with  the  least  reserve. 

To  such  a  scene  it  was,  to  a  sale  of  domestic  furniture 
at  the  house  of  some  proprietor  on  the  point  of  giving  up 
housekeeping,  perhaps  in  order  to  live  with  a  married  son 
or  daughter,  that  George  and  Sarah  Green  set  forward  in 
the  forenoon  of  a  day  fated  to  be  their  last  on  earth. 
The  sale  was  to  take  place  in  Langdalehead  ;  to  which, 
from  their  own  cottage  in  Easedale,  it  was  possible  in 
daylight,  and  supposing  no  mist  upon  the  hills,  to  find  out 
a  short  cut  of  not  more  than  eight  miles.  By  this  route 
they  went ;  and  notwithstanding  the  snow  lay  on  the 
ground,  they  reached  their  destination  in  safety.  The 
attendance  at  the  sale  must  have  been  diminished  by  the 
rigorous  state  of  the  weather ;  but  still  the  scene  was  a 
gay  one  as  usual.  Sarah  Green,  though  a  good  and 
worthy  woman  in  her  rnaturer  years,  had  been  imprudent 
and  —  as  the  tender  consideration  of  the  country  is  apt  to 
express  it  —  'unfortunate'  in  her  youth.  She  had  an 
elder  daughter,  who  was  illegitimate  ;  and  I  believe  the 
father  of  this  girl  was  dead.  The  girl  herself  was  grown 
up;  and  the  peculiar  solicitude  of  poor  Sarah's  maternal 
heart  was  at  this  time  called  forth  on  her  behalf;  she 
wished  to  see  her  placed  in  a  very  respectable  house, 
where  the  mistress  was  distinguished  for  her  notable 
qualities  and  her  success  in  forming  good  servants.     This 


72  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

object,  SO  important  to  Sarah  Green  in  the  narrow  range 
of  her  cares,  as  in  a  more  exalted  family  it  might  be  to 
obtain  a  ship  for  a  lieutenant  that  had  passed  as  master 
and  commander,  or  to  get  him  'posted'  —  occupied  her 
almost  throughout  the  sale.  A  doubtful  answer  had  been 
given  to  her  application ;  and  Sarah  was  going  about  the 
crowd,  and  weaving  her  person  in  and  out  in  order  to  lay 
hold  of  this  or  that  intercessor,  who  might  have,  or  might 
seem  to  have,  some  weight  with  the  principal  person 
concerned. 

This  was  the  last  occupation  which  is  known  to  have 
stirred  the  pulses  of  her  heart.  An  illegitimate  child  is 
everywhere,  even  in  the  indulgent  society  of  Westmore- 
land dalesmen,  under  some  shade  of  discountenance  ;  so 
that  Sarah  Green  might  consider  her  duty  to  be  the 
stronger  toward  the  child  of  her  '  misfortune.'  And  she 
probably  had  another  reason  for  her  anxiety  —  as  some 
words  dropped  by  her  on  this  evening  led  people  to 
presume  —  in  her  conscientious  desire  to  introduce  her 
daughter  into  a  situation  less  perilous  than  that  which  had 
compassed  her  own  youthful  steps  with  snares.  If  so,  it 
is  painful  to  know  that  the  virtuous  wish,  whose 


'  vital  -warmth 


Gave  the  last  human  motion  to  the  heart,' 

should  not  have  been  fulfilled.  She  was  a  woman  of 
ardent  and  affectionate  spirit,  of  which  Miss  Wordsworth's 
memoir,  or  else  her  subsequent  memorials  in  conversa- 
tion, (I  forget  which,)  gave  some  circumstantial  and 
affecting  instances,  which  I  cannot  now  recall  with 
accuracy.  This  ardor  it  was,,  and  her  impassioned 
manner,  that  drew  attention  to  what  she  did  ;  for,  other- 
wise, she  was  too  poor  a  person  to  be  important  in  the 
estimation  of  strangers,  and,  of  all  possible  situations,  to 


RECOLLECTIONS    OF    GRASMEKE.  73 

be  important  at  a  sale,  where  the  public  attention  was 
naturally  fixed  upon  the  chief  purchasers,  and  the  atten- 
tion of  the  purchasers  upon  the  chief  competitors. 
Hence  it  happened,  that,  after  she  ceased  to  challenge 
notice  by  the  emphasis  of  her  solicitations  for  her 
daughter,  she  ceased  to  be  noticed  at  all ;  and  nothing 
was  recollected  of  her  subsequent  behavior  until  the  time 
arrived  for  general  separation.  This  time  was  considera- 
bly after  sunset ;  and  the  final  recollections  of  the  crowd 
with  respect  to  George  and  Sarah  Green,  were,  that,  upon 
their  intention  beina;  understood  to  retrace  their  morninsr 
path,  and  to  attempt  the  perilous  task  of  dropping  down 
into  Easedale  from  the  mountains  above  Lan^dale  Head, 
a  sound  of  remonstrance  arose  from  many  quarters. 
However,  at  a  moment  when  everybody  was  in  the  hurry 
of  departure — and,  to  persons  of  their  mature  age,  the 
opposition  could  not  be  very  obstinate  —  party  after  party 
rode  off;  the  meeting  melted  away,  or,  as  the  northern 
phrase  is,  scaled ;  *  and,  at  length,  nobody  was  left  of 
any  weight  that  could  pretend  to  influence  the  decision  of 
elderly  people.  They  quitted  the  scene,  professing  to 
obey  some  advice  or  other  upon  the  choice  of  roads ;  but, 
at  as  early  a  point  as  they  could  do  so  unobserved,  began 
to  ascend  the  hills,  everywhere  open  from  the  rude 
carriage  way.  After  this,  they  were  seen  no  more. 
They  had  disappeared  into  the  cloud  of  death.  Voices 
were  heard,  some  hours  afterwards,  from  the  mountains 
—  voices,  as  some  thought,  of  alarm  ;  others  said,  no  — 


*  Scaled —  scale  is  a  verb  both  active  and  neuter.  I  use  it  here  as  a 
neuter  verb,  in  the  sense  (a  Cumberland  sense)  of  separating  to  all  the 
thirty-two  points  of  the  compass.  But  by  Shakspeare  it  is  used  in  an 
active  or  transitive  sense.  Speaking  of  some  secret  news,  he  says  — 
*  We'll  scale  it  a  little  more,'  i.  e.,  spread  it  in  all  directions. 


74  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

that  it  was  only  the  voices  of  jovial  people,  carried  by  the 
wind  into  uncertain  regions.  The  result  was,  that  no 
attention  was  paid  to  the  sounds. 

That  night,  in  little  peaceful  Easedale,  six  children  sat 
by  a  peat  fire,  expecting  the  return  of  their  parents,  upon 
whom  they  depended  for  their  daily  bread.  Let  a  day 
pass,  and  they  were  starved.  Every  sound  was  heard  with 
anxiety;  for  all  this  was  reported  many  a  hundred  times 
to  Miss  Wordsworth,  and  those  who,  like  myself,  were 
never  wearied  of  hearing  the  details.  Every  sound, 
every  echo  amongst  the  hills  was  listened  to  for  five 
hours  —  from  seven  to  twelve.  At  length,  the  eldest 
girl  of  the  family —  about  nine  years  old  —  told  her  little 
brothers  and  sisters  to  go  to  bed.  They  had  been  taught 
obedience ;  and  all  of  them,  at  the  voice  of  their  eldest 
sister,  went  off  fearfully  to  their  beds.  What  could  be 
their  fears,  it  is  difficult  to  say  !  they  had  no  knowledge 
to  instruct  them  in  the  dangers  of  the  hills  ;  but  the'eldest 
sister  always  averred  that  they  had  a  deep  solicitude,  as 
she  herself  had,  about  their  parents.  Doubtless  she  had 
communicated  her  fears  to  them.  Some  time,  in  the 
course  of  the  evening  —  but  it  was  late  and  after  mid- 
night —  the  moon  arose  and  shed  a  torrent  of  light  upon 
the  Langdalo  fells,  which  had  already,  long  hours  before, 
witnessed  in  darkness  the  death  of  their  parents.  It  may 
be  well  here  to  cite  Mr.  Wordsworth's  stanzas :  — 

'  Who  weeps  for  strangers  ?     Many  wept 
For  George  and  Sarah  Green  ; 
"Wept  for  that  pair's  unhappy  fate, 
Whose  graves  may  here  be  seen. 

By  night,  upon  these  stormy  fells, 

Did  wife  and  husband  roam  ; 
Six  little  ones  at  home  had  left,  . 

And  could  not  find  that  home. 


RECOLLECTIONS    OF    GRASMEKE.  75 

For  any  dwelling-place  of  man 

As  vainly  did  tliey  seek. 
He  perished  ;  and  a  voice  was  heard — 

The  widow's  lonely  shriek. 

Not  many  steps,  and  she  was  left 

A  body  without  life  — 
A  few  short  steps  were  the  chain  that  bound 

The  husband  to  the  wife. 

Now  do  these  sternly-featured  hills 

Look  gently  on  this  grave  ; 
And  quiet  now  are  the  depths  of  air, 

As  a  sea  without  a  wave. 

But  deeper  lies  the  heart  of  peace 

In  quiet  more  profound  ; 
The  heart  of  quietness  is  here 

Within  this  churchyard  bound. 

And  from  all  agony  of  mind 
It  keeps  them  safe,  and  f;ir 
['  ,  From  fear  and  grief,  and  from  all  need 

Of  sun  or  guiding  star. 

0  darkness  of  the  grave  !  how  deep, 

After  that  living  night  — 
That  last  and  dreary  living  one 

Of  sorrow  and  affright  ! 

0  sacred  marriage-bed  of  death. 

That  keeps  them  side  by  side 
In  bond  of  peace,  in  bond  of  love, 

That  may  not  be  untied  ! ' 

That  iiigbt,  and  the  following  morning,  came  a  further 
and  a  heavier  fall  of  snow ;  in  consequence  of  which  the 
poor  children  were  completely  imprisoned,  and  cut  off 
from  all  possibility  of  communicating  with  their  next 
neighbors.  The  brook  was  too  much  for  them  to  leap  ; 
and  the  little,  crazy,  wooden  bridge  could  not  be  crossed 
or  even  approached  with  safety,  from  the  drifting  of  the 


76  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

snow  having  made  it  impossible  to  ascertain  the  exact 
situation  of  some  treacherous  hole  in  its  timbers,  which, 
if  trod  upon,  would  have  let  a  small  child  drop  through 
into  the  rapid  waters.  Their  parents  did  not  return.  For 
some  hours  of  the  morning,  the  children  clung  to  the 
hope  that  the  extreme  severity  of  the  night  had  tempted 
them  to  sleep  in  Langdale  ;  but  this  hope  forsook  them  as 
the  day  wore  away.  Their  father,  George  Green,  had 
served  as  a  soldier,  and  was  an  active  man,  of  ready 
resources,  who  would  not,  under  any  circumstances,  have 
failed^  to  force  a  road  back  to  his  family,  had  he  been 
still  living ;  and  this  reflection,  or  rather  semi-conscious 
feeling,  which  the  awfulness  of  their  situation  forced 
upon  the  minds  of  all  but  the  mere  infants,  taught  them 
to  feel  the  extremity  of  their  danger.  Wonderful  it  is  to 
see  the  effect  of  sudden  misery,  sudden  grief,  or  sudden 
fear,  (where  they  do  not  utterly  upset  the  faculties,)  in 
sharpening  the  intellectual  perceptions.  Instances  must 
have  fallen  in  the  way  of  most  of  us.  And  I  have  noticed 
frequently  that  even  sudden  and  intense  bodily  pain  is 
part  of  the  machinery  employed  by  nature  for  quickening 
the  development  of  the  mind.  The  perceptions  of  in- 
fants are  not,  in  fact,  excited  gradatim  and  continuously, 
but  per  saltum,  and  by  unequal  starts.  At  least,  in  the 
case  of  my  own  children,  one  and  all,  I  have  remarked, 
that,  after  any  very  severe  fit  of  those  peculiar  pains  to 
which  the  delicate  digestive  organs  of  most  infants  are 
liable,  there  always  become  apparent  on  the  following  day 
a  very  considerable  increase  of  vital  energy  and  of  viva- 
cious attention  to  the  objects  around  them.  The  poor 
desolate  children  of  Blentarn  Ghyll,*  hourly   becoming 


*  Wordsworth's  conjecture  as  to  the  origin  of  the  name  is  probably 
the  true  one.  There  is,  at  a  little  elevation  above  the  place,  a  small 
coacave  tract  of  ground,  shaped  like  the  bed  of  a  tara.     Some  causes 


RECOLLECTIONS    OF    GRASMERE.  77 

more  ruefully  convinced  that  they  were  orphans,  gave 
many  evidences  of  this  awaking  power,  as  lodged,  by  a 
providential  arrangement,  in  situations  of  trial  that  most 
require  it.  They  huddled  together,  in  the  evening,  round 
their  hearth-fire  of  peats,  and  held  their  little  councils 
upon  what  was  to  be  done  towards  any  chance  —  if 
chance  remained  —  of  yet  giving  aid  to  their  parents  ; 
for  a  slender  hope  had  sprung  up  that  some  hovel  or 
sheep-fold  might  have  furnished  them  a  screen  (or,  in 
Westmoreland  phrase,  a  hield)  against  the  weather  quar- 
ter of  the  storm,  in  which  hovel  they  might  be  lying 
disabled  or  snowed  up  ;  and,  secondly,  as  regarded  them- 
selves, in  what  way  they  were  to  make  known  their 
situation,  in  case  the  snow  should  continue  or  increase  ; 
for  starvation  stared  them  in  the  face,  if  they  should  be 
confined  for  many  days  to  their  house. 

Meantime,  the  eldest  sister,  little  Agnes,  though  sadly 
alarmed,  and  feeling  the  sensation  of  eariness  as  twilight 
came  on,  and  she  looked  out  from  the  cottage  door  to  the 
dreadful  fells,  on  which,  too  probably,  her  parents  were 
lying  corpses,  (and  possibly  not  many  hundred  yards  from 
their  own  threshold),  yet  exerted  herself  to  take  all  the 
measures  which  their  own  prospects  made  prudent.  And 
she  told  Miss  Wordsworth,  that,  in  the  midst  of  the 
oppression  on  her  little  spirit,  from  vague  ghostly  terrors, 
she  did  not  fail,  however,  to  draw  some  comfort  from  the 
consideration,  that  the  very  same  causes  which  produced 
their  danger  in  one  direction,  sheltered  them  from  danger 
of  another  kind  —  such  dangers  as  she  knew,  from  books 


having  diverted  tiie  supplies  of  water,  at  some  remote  period,  from  the 
little  reservoir,  the  tarn  has  consequently  disappeared  ;  hut  the  bed,  and 
other  Indications  of  a  tarn,  (particularly  a  little  ghyll,  or  steep  rocky 
cleft  for  discharging  the  water,)  having  remained  as  memorials  that  it 
once  existed,  the  country  people  have  called  it  the  'Blind  Tarn. 


78  LITERARY   REMINISCENCES. 

that  she  had  read,  would  have  threatened  a  little  desolate 
flock  of  children  in  other  parts  of  England  ;  that,  if  they 
could  not  get  out  into  Grasmere,  on  the  other  hand,  bad 
men,  and  wild  seafaring  foreigners,  who  sometinnes  passed 
along  tiic  high  road  in  that  vale,  could  not  get  to  them  ;  and 
that,  as  to  their  neighbors,  so  far  from  having  anything  to 
fear  in  that  quarter,  their  greatest  apprehension  was  lest 
they  might  not  be  able  to  acquaint  them  with  their  situation  ; 
but  that,  if  that  could  be  accomplished,  the  very  sternest 
amongst  them  were  kind-hearted  people,  that  would  con- 
tend with  each  other  for  the  privilege  of  assisting  them. 
Somewhat  cheered  with  these  thoughts,  and  having  caused 
all  her  broihers  and  sisters  —  except  the  two  little  things, 
not  yet  of  a  fit  age  — to  kneel  down  and  say  the  prayers 
which  they  had  been  taught,  this  admirable  little  maiden 
turned  herself  to  every  household  task  that  could  have 
proved  useful  to  them  in  a  long  captivity.  First  of  all, 
upon  some  recollection  that  the  clock  was  nearly  going 
down,  she  wound  it  up.  Next,  she  took  all  the  milk  which 
remained  from  what  her  mother  had  provided  for  the 
children's  consumption  during  her  absence,  and  for  the 
breakfast  of  the  following  morning —  this  luckily  was  still- 
in  sufficient  plenty  for  two  days'  consumption,  (skimmed 
or  '  blue  '  milk  being  only  one  half-penny  a  quart,  and  the 
quai't  a  most  redundant  one,  in  Grasmere)  —  this  she  took 
and  scalded,  so  as  to  save  it  from  turning  sour.  That 
done,  she  next  examined  the  meal  chest  ;  made  the  com- 
mon oatmeal  porridge  of  the  country,  (the  burgoo  of  the 
royal  navy ;)  but  put  all  of  the  children,  except  the  two 
youngest,  on  short  allowance  ;  and,  by  way  of  reconciling 
them  in  some  measure  to  this  stinted  meal,  she  found  out 
a  little  hoard  of  flour,  part  of  which  she  baked  for  them 
upon  the  hearth  into  little  cakes  ;  and  this  unusual  delicacy 
persuaded  them  to  think  that  they  had  been  celebrating  a 


RECOLLECTIONS    OF    GRASMERE.  79 

feast.  Next,  before  night  coining  on  should  make  it  too 
trying  to  her  own  feelings,  or  before  fresh  snow  coming 
on  might  make  it  impossible,  she  issued  out  of  doors. 
There  her  first  task  was,  with  the  assistance  of  two 
younger  brothers,  to  carry  in  from  the  peatstack  as  many 
peats  as  might  serve  them  for  a  week's  consumption. 
That  done,  in  the  second  place,  she  examined  the  potatoes, 
buried  in  '  brackens,'  (that  is,  withered  fern  :)  these  were 
not  many ;  and  she  thought  it  better  to  leave  them  where 
they  were,  excepting  as  many  as  would  make  a  single 
meal,  under  a  fear  that  the  heat  of  their  cottage  would 
spoil  them,  if  removed. 

Having  thus  made  all  the  provision  in  her  power  for 
supporting  their  own  lives,  she  turned  her  attention  to  the 
cow.  Her  she  milked  ;  but,  unfortunately,  the  milk  she 
gave,  either  from  being  badly  fed,  or  from  some  other 
cause,  was  too  triflinsr  to  be  of  much  consideration 
towards  the  wants  of  a  large  family.  Here,  however, 
her  chief  anxiety  was  to  get  down  the  hay  for  the  cow's 
food  from  a  loft  above  the  outhouse  ;  and  in  this  she  suc- 
ceeded but  imperfectly,  from  want  of  strength  and  size  to 
cope  with  the  difficulties  of  the  case  ;  besides  that  the 
increasing  darkness  by  this  time,  together  with  the  gloom 
of  the  place,  made  it  a  matter  of  great  self-conquest  for 
lier  to  work  at  all  ;  and,  as  respected  one  night  at  any 
rate,  she  placed  the  cow  in  a  situation  of  luxurious 
warmth  and  comfort.  Then  retreating  into  the  warm 
house,  and  '  barring '  the  door,  she  sat  down  to  undress 
the  two  youngest  of  the  children  ;  them  she  laid  carefully 
and  cosily  in  their  little  nests  up  stairs,  and  sang  them  to 
sleep.  The  rest  she  kept  up  to  bear  her  company  until 
the  clock  should  tell  them  it  was  midnight ;  up  to  which 
time  she  had  still  a  lingering  hope  that  some  welcome 
shout  from  the  hills  above,  which  they  were  all  to  strain 


80  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

their  ears  to  catch,  might  yet  assure  them  that  they  were 
not  wholly  orphans,  even  tliough  one  parent  should  have 
perished.  No  shout,  it  may  be  supposed,  was  ever  heard ; 
nor  could  a  shout,  in  any  case,  have  been  heard,  for  the 
night  was  one  of  tumultuous  wind.  And  though,  amidst 
its  ravings,  sometimes  they  fancied  a  sound  of  voices, 
still,  in  the  dead  lulls  that  now  and  then  succeeded,  they 
heard  nothing  to  confirm  their  hopes.  As  last  services  to 
what  she  might  now  have  called  her  own  little  family, 
Agnes  took  precautions  against  the  drifting  of  the  snow 
within  the  door  and  the  imperfect  window,  which  had 
caused  them  some  discomfort  on  the  preceding  day  ;  and, 
finally,  she  adopted  the  most  systematic  and  elaborate 
plans  for  preventing  the  possibility  of  their  fire  being 
extinguished,  which,  in  the  event  of  their  being  thrown 
upon  the  ultimate  resource  of  their  potatoes,  would  be 
absolutely  (and  in  any  event  nearly)  indispensable  to 
their  existence. 

The  night  slipped  away,  and  another  morning  came, 
bringing  with  it  no  better  hopes  of  any  kind.  Change 
there  had  been  none  but  for  the  worse.  The  snow  had 
greatly  increased  in  quantity ;  and  the  drifts  seemed  far 
more  formidable.  A  second  day  passed  like  the  first  ; 
little  Agnes  still  keeping  her  little  flock  quiet,  and  tolera- 
bly comfortable ;  and  still  calling  on  all  the  elders  in 
succession,  to  say  their  prayers,  morning  and  night. 

A  third  day  came  ;  and  whether  it  was  on  that  or  on 
the  fourth,  I  do  not  now  recollect;  but  on  one  or  other 
there  came  a  welcome  gleam  of  hope.  The  arrangement 
of  the  snow  drifts  had  shifted  during  the  night :  and 
though  the  wooden  bridge  was  still  impracticable,  a  low 
wall  had  been  exposed,  over  which,  by  a  very  considerable 
circuit,  and  crossing  the  low  shoulder  of  a  hill,  it  seemed 
possible  that  a  road  might  be  found  into  Grasmere.     In 


RECOLLECTIONS    OF   GRASMERE.  81 

some  walls  it  was  necessary  to  force  gaps;  but  this  was 
effected  without  much  difficulty,  even  by  children ;  for 
the  Westmoreland  walls  are  always  '  open,'  that  is,  unce- 
mented  with  mortar;  and  the  push  of  a  stick  will  readily 
detach  so  much  from  the  upper  part  of  an  old  crazy  field 
wall,  as  to  lower  it  sufficiently  for  female  or  for  childish 
steps  to  pass.  The  little  boys  accompanied  their  sister 
until  she  came  to  the  other  side  of  the  hill,  which,  lying 
more  sheltered  from  the  weather,  and  to  windward,  offered 
a  path  onwards  comparatively  easy.  Here  they  parted ; 
and  little  Agnes  pursued  her  solitary  mission  to  the  near- 
est house  she  could  find  accessible  in  Grasmere. 

No  house  could  have  proved  a  wrong  one  in  such  a 
case.  Miss  Wordsworth  and  I  often  heard  the  description 
renewed,  of  the  horror  which,  in  an  instant,  displaced  the 
smile  of  hospitable  greeting,  when  litde  weeping  Agnes 
told  her  sad  tale.  No  tongue  can  express  the  fervid  sym- 
pathy which  travelled  through  the  vale,  like  the  fire  in  an 
American  forest,  when  it  was  learned  that  neither  George 
nor  Sarah  Green  had  been  seen  by  their  children  since  the 
day  of  the  Langdale  sale.  Within  half  an  hour,  or  little 
more,  from  the  remotest  parts  of  the  valley  —  some  of 
them  distant  nearly  two  miles  from  the  point  of  rendez- 
vous—  all  the  men  of  Grasmere  had  assembled  at  the 
little  cluster  of  cottages  called  '  Kirktown,'  from  their 
adjacency  to  the  venerable  parish  church  of  St.  Oswald. 
There  were  at  the  time  I  settled  in  Grasmere,  (viz.  in  the 
Spring  of  1809,  and,  therefore,  I  suppose  at  this  time,  fif- 
teen months  previously,)  about  sixty-three  households  in 
the  vale  ;  and  the  total  number  of  souls  was  about  two 
hundred  and  sixty-five  ;  so  that  the  number  of  fighting  men 
would  be  about  sixty  or  sixty-six,  according  to  the  com- 
mon way  of  computing  the  proportion ;  and  the  majority 
were  so  athletic  and  powerfully  built,  that,,  at  the  village 

VOL.  II.  6 


IB2  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

games  of  wrestling  and  leaping,  Professor  Wilson,  and 
some  visiters  of  his  and  mine,  scarcely  one  of  whom  was 
under  five  feet  eleven  in  height,  with  proportionable 
breadth,  seem  but  middle  sized  men  amongst  the  towering 
forms  of  the  Dalesmen.  Sixty  at  least,  after  a  short  con- 
sultation as  to  the  plan  of  operations,  and  for  arranging 
the  kind  of  signals  by  which  they  were  to  communicate 
from  great  distances,  and  in  the  perilous  events  of  mists, 
or  snow  storms,  set  off,  with  the  speed  of  Alpine  hunters, 
to  the  hills.  The  dangers  of  the  undertaking  were  con- 
eiderable,  under  the  uneasy  and  agitated  state  of  the 
•weather  ;  and  all  the  women  of  the  vale  were  in  the  great- 
test  anxiety,  until  night  brought  them  back,  in  a  body,  un- 
successful. Three  days  at  the  least,  and  I  rather  think  five, 
the  search  was  ineffectual ;  which  arose  partly  from  the 
great  extent  of  the  ground  to  be  examined,  and  pa,rtly 
from  the  natural  mistake  made  of  ranging  almost  exclu- 
sively on  the  earlier  days  on  that  part  of  the  hills  over 
which  the  path  of  Easedale  might  be  presumed  to  have 
been  selected  under  any  reasonable  latitude  of  circuitous- 
ness.  But  the  fact  is,  when  the  fatal  accident  (for  such  it 
has  often  proved)  of  a  permanent  mist  surprises  a  man  on 
the  hills,  if  he  turns  and  loses  his  direction,  he  is  a  lost 
man  ;  and  without  doing  this  so  as  to  lose  the  power  of 
s'orienter  in  one  instant,  it  is  well  known  how  difficult  it 
is  to  avoid  losing  it  insensibly  and  by  degrees.  Baffling 
snow  showers  are  the  worst  kind  of  mists.  And  the  poor 
Greens  had,  under  that  kind  of  confusion,  wandered  many 
a  mile  out  of  their  proper  track. 

The  zeal  of  the  people,  meantime,  was  not  in  the  least 
;abated,  but  rather  ■quickened,  by  the  wearisome  disap- 
.pointments ;  every  hour  of  daylight  was  turned  to  ac- 
count;  no  man  of  the  valley  ever  came  home  to  dinner; 
^nd  the  reply  of  a  young  shoemaker,  on  the  fourth  night's 


RECOLLECTIONS    OF   GRASMERE.  83 

return,  speaks  sufficiently  for  the  unabated  spirit  of  the 
vale.     Miss  Wordsworth  asked  what  he  would  do  on  the 
next  morning.     '  Go  up  again,  of  course,'  was  his  answer. 
But  what  if  to-morrow  also  should  turn  out  like  all  the 
rest  ?     '  Why  go  up  in  stronger  force  on  the  next  day.' 
Yet  this  man  was  sacrificing  his  own  daily  earnings  with- 
out a  chance  of  recompense.     At  length  sagacious  dogs 
were  taken  up  ;  and,  about  noonday,  a  shout  from  an 
aerial  height,  amongst  thick  volumes   of  cloudy   vapor, 
propagated  through  repeating  bands  of  men  from  a  dis- 
tance of  many  miles,  conveyed  as  by  telegraph  the  news 
that  the  bodies  were  found.     George  Green  was  found 
lying  at  the  bottom  of  a  precipice,  from  which  he   had 
fallen.     Sarah  Green  was  found  on  the  summit  of  the 
precipice;  and,  by  laying  together  all  the  indications  of 
wlifit   had    passed,    the    sad    hieroglyphics   of    their    Tast 
agonies,  it  was  conjectured  that  the  husband  had  desired 
his  wife  to  pause  for  a  few  minutes,  wrapping  her,  mean- 
time, in  his  own  great  coat,  whilst  he  should  go  forward 
and  reconnoitre  the  ground,  in  order  to  catch  a  sight  of 
some  object  (rocky  peak,  or  tarn,  or   peat-field)   which 
miiiht   ascertain   their    real    situation.     Either   the    snow 
above,  already  lying  in  drifts,  or  the  blinding  snow  storms 
driving    into  his  eyes,   must  have   misled   him  as  to  the 
nature  of  the  circumjacent  ground  ;  for  the  precipice  over 
which  he  had  fallen  was  but  a  few  yards  from  the  spot  in 
which  he  had  quitted  his  wife.     The  depth  of  the  descent, 
and  the  fury  of  the  wind,  (almost  always  violent  on  these 
cloudy  altitudes,)  would  prevent  any  distinct  communica- 
tion between  the  dying  husband  below  and  his  despairing 
wife  above ;  but  it  was  believed  by  the  shepherds,  best 
acquainted   with  the  ground  and  the  range   of  sound  as 
regarded  the  capacities  of  the  human  ear,  under  the  pro- 
bable circumstances  of  the  storm,  that  Sarah  might  have 


84  LITERARY  REMINISCENCES. 

caught,  at  intervals,  the  groans  of  her  unhappy  partner, 
supposing  that  his  death  were  at  all  a  lingering  one. 
Others,  on  the  contrary,  supposed  her  to  have  gathered 
this  catastrophe  rather  from  the  want  of  any  sounds,  and 
from  his  continued  absence,  than  from  any  one  distinct 
or  positive  expression  of  it;  both  because  the  smooth  and 
unruffled  surface  of  the  snow  where  he  lay  seemed  to 
argue  that  he  had  died  without  a  struggle,  perhaps  without 
a  groan,  and  because  that  tremendous  sound  of  '  hurtling' 
in  the  upper  chambers  of  the  air,  which  often  accompanies 
a  snow  storm,  when  combined  with  heavy  gales  of  wind, 
would  utterly  oppress  and  stifle  (as  they  conceived)  any 
sounds  so  feeble  as  those  from  a  dying  man.  In  any 
case,  and  by  whatever  sad  language  of  sounds  or  signs, 
positive  or  negative,  she  might  have  learned  or  guessed 
her  loss,  it  was  generally  agreed  that  the  wild  shrieks 
heard  towards  midnight  in  Langdale  *  Head  announced 
the  agonizing  moment  which  brought  to  her  now  widowed 
heart  the  conviction  of  utter  desolation  and  of  final  aban- 
donment to  her  own  fast-fleeting  energies.  It  seemed 
probable  that  the  sudden  disappearance  of  her  husband 
from  her  pursuing  eyes  would  teach  her  to  understand  his 
fate  ;  and  that  the  consequent  indefinite  apprehension  of 

*  I  once  heard,  also,  in  talking  with  a  Langdale  family  upon  this 
tragic  tale,  that  the  sounds  had  penetrated  into  the  valley  of  Little 
Langdale  ;  which  is  possible  enough.  For  although  this  interesting 
recess  of  the  entire  Langdale  hasin  (which  bears  somewhat  of  ihe  same 
relation  to  Great  Langdale  that  Easedale  bears  to  Grasmere)  does,  iu 
fact,  lie  beyond  Langdale  Head  by  the  entire  breadth  of  that  dale,  yet 
from  the  singular  accident  of  having  its  area  raised  far  above  the  level 
of  the  adjacent  vales,  one  most  solitary  section  of  Little  Langdale  (iu 
which  lies  a  liny  lake,  and  on  the  banks  of  that  lake  dwells  one  solitary 
family)  being  exactly  at  right  angles  both  to  Langdale  Head  and  to  the 
other  conn.plementary  section  of  the  Lesser  Langdale,  is  brought  into  a 
pobiiion  and  an  elevation  virtually  much  nearer  to  objects  (especially  to 
audible  objects)  on  the  Langdale  Fells. 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF  GRASMEKE.  85 

instant  death  lying  all  around  the  point  on  which  she  sat, 
had  kept  her  stationary  to  the  very  attitude  in  which  her 
husband  left  her,  until  her  failing  powers  and  the  increas- 
ing bitterness  of  the  cold,  to  one  no  longer  in  motion, 
would  soon  make  those  changes  of  place  impossible, 
which,  at  any  rate,  had  appeared  too  dangerous.  The 
footsteps  in  some  places,  wherever  drifting  had  not  oblite- 
rated them,  yet  traceable  as  to  the  outline,  though  partially 
filled  up  with  later  falls  of  snow,  satisfactorily  showed  that 
however  much  they  might  have  rambled,  after  crossing 
and  doubling  upon  their  own  paths,  and  many  a  mile 
astray  from  their  right  track,  still  they  must  have  kept 
together  to  the  very  plateau  or  shelf  of  rock  at  which  their 
wanderings  had  terminated  ;  for  there  were  evidently  no 
steps  from  this  plateau  in  the  retrograde  order. 

By  the  time  they  had  reached  this  final  stage  of  their 
erroneous  course,  all  possibility  of  escape  must  have  been 
lono-  over  for  both  alike  :  because  their  exhaustion  must 
have  been  excessive  before  they  could  have  reached  a 
point  so  remote  and  high  ;  and,  unfortunately,  the  direct 
result  of  all  this  exhaustion  had  been  to  throw  them  farther 
oflT  their  home,  or  from  'any  dwelling-place  of  man,'  than 
they  were  at  starting.  Here,  therefore,  at  this  rocky  pin- 
nacle, hope  was  extinct  for  either  party.  But  it  was  the 
impression  of  the  vale,  that,  perhaps  within  half  an  hour 
.before  reaching  this  fatal  point,  George  Green  might,  had 
his  conscience  or  his  heart  allowed  him  in  so  base  a  deser- 
tion, have  saved  himself  singly,  without  any  very  great 
difficulty.  It  is  to  be  hoped,  however —  and,  for  my  part, 
I  think  too  well  of  human  nature  to  hesitate  in  believing 
—  that  not  many,  even  amongst  the  meaner-minded  and 
the  least  generous  of  men,  could  have  reconciled  them- 
selves to  the  abandonment  of  a  poor  fainting  female  com- 
panion in  such   circumstances.     Still,  though   not   more 


86  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

than  a  most  imperative  duty,  it  was  one  (I  repeat)  which 
most  of  his  associates  believed  to  have  cost  him  (perhaps 
consciously)  his  life.  For  his  wife  not  only  must  have 
disabled  him  greatly  by  clinging  to  his  arm  for  support; 
but  it  was  known,  from  her  peculiar  character  and  man- 
ner, that  she  would  be  likely  to  rob  him  of  his  coolness 
and  presence  of  mind  by  too  painfully  fixing  his  thoughts, 
where  her  own  would  be  busiest,  upon  their  helpless  little 
family.  '  Stung  with  the  thoughts  of  home'  —  to  borrow 
the  fine  expression  of  Thomson  in  describing  a  similar 
case  —  alternately  thinking  of  the  blessedness  of  that 
warm  fireside  at  Blentarn  Ghyll,  which  was  not  again 
to  spread  its  genial  glow  through  her  freezing  limbs,  and 
of  those  darling  little  faces  which,  in  this  world,  she  was 
to  see  no  more  ;  unintentionally,  and  without  being  aware 
even  of  that  result,  she  would  rob  the  brave  man  (for 
such  he  was)  of  his  fortitude,  and  the  strong  man  of  his 
animal  resources.  And  yet — (such,  in  the  very  opposite 
direction,  was  equally  the  impression  universally  through 
Grasmere)  —  had  Sarah  Green  foreseen,  could  her  affec- 
tionate heart  have  guessed  even  the  tenth  part  of  that  love 
and  neighborly  respect  for  herself,  which  soon  afterwards 
expressed  themselves  in  showers  of  bounty  to  her  children; 
could  she  have  looked  behind  the  curtain  of  destiny  suffi- 
ciently to  learn  that  the  very  desolation  of  these  poor 
children  which  wrung  her  maternal  heart,  and  doubtless 
constituted  to  her  the  sting  of  death,  would  prove  the 
signal  and  the  pledge  of  such  anxious  guardianship  as  not 
many  rich  men's  children  receive,  and  that  this  overflow- 
ing ofTering  to  her  own  memory  would  not  be  a  hasly  or 
decaying  tribute  of  the  first  sorrowing  sensibilities,  but 
would  pursue  her  children  steadily  until  their  hopeful 
settlement  in  life  —  or  anything  approaching  this,  to  have 
known  or  have  guessed,  would  have  caused  her  (as  all 


RECOLLECTIONS    OF    GRASMERE.  81| 

said  who  knew  her)  to  welcome  the  bitter  end  by  which 
such  privileges  were  to  be  purchased. 

The  funeral  of  the  ill-fated  Greens  was,  it  may  be  sup- 
posed, attended  by  all  the  vale  :  it  took  place  about  eight 
days  after  they  were  found  ;  and  the  day  happened  to  be  in 
the  most  perfect  contrast  to  the  sort  of  weather  which  pre- 
vailed at  the  time  of  their  misfortune  ;  some  snow  still 
remained  here  and  there  upon  the  ground  :  but  the  azure 
of  the  sky  was  unstained  by  a  cloud  ;  and  a  golden  sun- 
light seemed  to  sleep,  so  balmy  and  tranquil  was  the 
season,  upon  the  very  hills  where  they  had  wandered  — 
then  a  howling  wilderness,  but  now  a  green  pastoral  lawn, 
in  its  lower  ranges,  and  a  glittering  expanse,  smooth,  ap- 
parently, and  not  difficult  to  the  footing,  of  virgin  snow,  in 
its  higher.  George  Green  had,  I  believe,  an  elder  family  by 
a  former  wife  ;  and  it  was  for  some  of  these  children,  who 
lived  at  a  distance,  and  who  wished  to  give  their  attend- 
ance at  the  grave,  that  the  funeral  was  delayed.  After 
this  solemn  ceremony  was  over  —  at  which,  by  the  way,  I 
then  heard  Miss  Wordsworth  say  that  the  grief  of  Sarah's 
illegitimate  daughter  was  the  most  overwhelming  she  had 
ever  witnessed  — a  regular  distribution  of  the  children  was 
made  amongst  the  wealthier  families  of  the  vale.  There 
had  already,  and  before  the  funeral,  been  a  perfect  strug- 
gle to  obtain  one  of  the  children,  amongst  all  who  had  any 
facilities  for  discharging  the  duties  of  such  a  trust ;  and 
even  the  poorest  had  put  in  their  claim  to  bear  some  part 
in  the  expenses  of  the  case.  But  it  was  judiciously  de- 
cided, that  none  of  the  children  should  be  entrusted  to  any 
persons  who  seemed  likel}'-,  either  from  old  age,  or  from 
slender  means,  or  from  nearer  and  more  personal  respon- 
sibilities, to  be  under  the  necessity  of  devolving  the  trust, 
sooner  or  later,  upon  strangers,  who  might  have  none  of 
that  interest  in  the  children  which  attached,  in  their  minds, 


88  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

the  Grasmere  people  to  the  circumstances  that  made  them 
orphans.  Two  twins,  who  had  naturally  played  together 
and  slept  together  from  their  birth,  passed  into  the  same 
family  :  the  others  were  dispersed  ;  but  into  such  kind- 
hearted  and  intelligent  families,  with  continued  opportuni- 
ties of  meeting  each  other  on  errands,  or  at  church,  or  at 
sales,  that  it  was  hard  to  say  which  had  the  happier  fate. 
And  til  us  in  so  brief  a  period  as  one  fortnight,  a  house- 
hold that,  by  health  and  strength,  by  the  humility  of  pov- 
erty, and  by  innocence  of  life,  seemed  sheltered  from  all 
attacks  but  those  of  time,  came  to  be  utterly  broken  up. 
George  and  Sarah  Green  slept  in  Grasmere  churchyard, 
never  more  to  know  the  want  of  '  sun  or  guiding  star.' 
Their  children  we're  scattered  over  wealthier  houses  than 
those  of  their  poor  parents,  through  the  vales  of  Grasmere 
or  Rydal  ;  and  Blentarn  Ghyll,  after  being  shut  up  for  a 
season,  and  ceasing  for  months  to  send  up  its  little  slender 
column  of  smoke  at  morning  and  evening,  finally  passed 
into  the  hands  of  a  stranger. 

The  VVordsworths,  meantime,  were  so  much  interested 
in  the  future  fortunes  and  the  suitable  education  of  the 
children  —  feeling,  no  doubt,  that,  when  both  parents,  in 
any  little  sequestered  community,  such  as  that  of  Gras- 
mere, are  suddenly  cut  off  by  a  tragical  death,  the  chil- 
dren, in  such  a  case,  become,  in  all  reason  and  natural 
humanity,  a  bequest  to  the  other  members  of  that  com- 
munity —  that  tliey  energetically  applied  themselves  to 
the  task  of  raising  funds  by  subscription  ;  most  of  which, 
it  is  true,  might  not  be  wanted  until  future  years  should 
carry  one  after  another  of  the  children  successively  into 
different  trades  or  occupation  ;  but  they  well  understood, 
that  more,  by  tenfold,  would  be  raised  under  an  imme- 
diate appeal  to  the  sympathies  of  men,  whilst  yet  burning 
fervently  towards  the  sufferers  in  this  calamity,  than  if 


RECOLLECTIONS    OF   GRASBIERE.  89 

the  application  were  delayed  until  the  money  should  be 
needed.     I  have  mentioned  that  the  Royal  Family  were 
made  acquainted  with  the  details  of  the  case  ;  that  they 
were  powerfully  affected  by  the  story,  especially  by  the 
account  of  little  Agnes,  and  her  premature  assumption  of 
the   maternal  character ;   and  that  they  contributed  most 
munificently.     For  my  part,  I  could  have  obtained  a  good 
deal  from  the  careless   liberality  of  Oxonian  friends  to- 
wards such  a  fund.     But  finding,  or  rather  knowing  pre- 
viously how  little,  in  such  an  application,  it  would  aid  me 
to  plead  the   name  of  Wordsworth  as  the  mover  of  the 
subscription,  (a  name  that  7ioiv  would  stand  good  for  some 
thousands  of  pounds  in  that  same  Oxford  —  so  passes  the 
injustice  as  well  as  the  glory  of  this  world  !)  — knowing 
this,  1  did  not  choose  to  trouble  anybody ;   and  the  more 
so  as   Miss  Wordswortb,   upon   my  proposal   to   write  to 
various  ladies,  upon  whom   I  knew  that  I  could  rely  for 
their  several  contributions,  wrote  back  to  me,  desiring  that 
I  would  not ;   and  upon  this  satisfactory  reason  —  that  the 
fund  had  already  swelled  under  the  Royal  patronage,  and 
the  interest  excited  by  so  much  of  the  circumstances  as 
could  be  reported  in  hurried  letters,  to  an  amount  beyond 
what  was  likely  to  be  wanted  for  persons  whom  there  was 
no  good  reason  for  pushing  out  of  the  sphere  to  which 
their  birth  had  called  them.     The  parish  even  was  liable 
to  give  aid  ;  and,  in  the  midst  of  Royal  bounty,  this  was 
not  declined.     Finally,  to  complete  their  own  large  share 
in  the  cliarhy,  the  Wordsworths  took  into  their  own  family 
one    of  the   children,  a  girl,  Sarah  by  name ;   the   least 
amiable,  I  believe,  of  the  whole ;  so,  at  least,  I  imagined  ; 
for  this  girl  it  was,  and  her  criminal  negligence,  that  in 
years  to  come  inflicted  the  first  heavy  wound  that  I  sus- 
tained  in   my  affections,   and    first   caused   me  to    drink 
deeply  from  the  cup  of  grief. 


90  LITERARY    REBIINISCENCES. 

In  taking  leave  of  this  subject,  I  may  mention,  by  the 
way,  that  accidents  of  this  nature  are  not  by  any  means 
so  uncommon,  in  the  mountainous  districts  of  Cumberland 
and  Westmoreland,  as  the  reader  might  infer  from  the  in- 
tensity of  the  excitement  which  waited  on  the  catastrophe 
of  the  Greens.  In  that  instance,  it  was  not  the  simple 
death  by  cold  upon  the  hills,  but  the  surrounding  circum- 
stances, which  invested  the  case  with  its  agitating  power  : 
the  fellowship  in  death  of  a  wife  and  husband  ;  the  general 
impression  that  the  husband  had  perished  in  his  generous 
devotion  to  his  wife,  (a  duty  certainly,  and  no  more  than 
a  duty,  but  still,  under  the  instincts  of  self-preservation,  a 
generous  duty  ;)  sympathy  with  their  long  agony,  as  ex- 
pressed by  their  long  ramblings,  and  the  earnestness  of 
their  efforts  to  recover  their  home  ;  awe  for  the  long  con- 
cealment which  rested  upon  their  fate  ;  and  pity  for  the 
helpless  condition  of  the  children,  so  young,  and  so  instan- 
taneously made  desolate,  and  so  nearly  perishing  through 
the  loneliness  of  their  situation,  co-operating  with  stress  of 
weather,  had  they  not  been  saved  by  the  prudence  and 
timely  exertions  of  a  little  girl,  not  much  above  eight  years 
old;  —  these  were  the  circumstances  and  accessary  ad- 
juncts of  the  story  which  pointed  and  sharpened  the  public 
feelings  on  that  occasion.  Else  the  mere  general  case  of 
perishing  upon  the  mountains  is  not,  unfortunately,  so 
rare,  in  any  season  of  the  year,  as,  for  itself  alone,  to  com- 
mand a  powerful  tribute  of  sorrow  from  the  public  mind. 
Natives  as  well  as  strangers,  shepherds  as  well  as  tour- 
ists, have  fallen  victims,  even  in  summer,  to  the  mislead- 
ing and  confounding  effects  of  deep  mists.  Sometimes 
they  have  continued  for  days  to  wander  unconsciously  in 
a  small  circle  of  two  or  three  miles,  never  coming  within 
hall  of  a  human  dwellinsr,  until  exhaustion  has  forced  them 
into  a  sleep  which  has  proved  their  last.     Sometimes  a 


RECOLLECTIONS    OF    GRASMERE.  91 

sprain  or  injury,  that  disabled  a  foot  or  a  leg,  has  destined 
them  to  die  by  the  shocking  death  of  hunger.*    Sometimes 


*  The  case  of  Mr.  Gougli,  who  perished  in  ihe  bosom  of  Helvellyn, 
and  was  supposed  hy  some  to  have  been  disabled  by  a  sprain  of  the 
ankle,  whilst  others  believed  him  to  liave  received  that  injury  and  his 
death  simultaneously,  in  a  fall  from  the  lower  shelf  of  a  precipice, 
became  well  known  to  the  public,  in  all  its  details,  from  the  accident  of 
having  been  recorded  in  verse  by  two  writers  nearly  at  the  same  time  — 
by  Sir  Walter  Scolt,  and  by  Wordsworth.  But  here,  again,  as  in  the 
case  of  the  Greens,  it  was  not  the  naked  fact  of  his  death  amongst  the 
solitudes  of  the  mountains  that  would  have  won  the  public  attention,  or 
have  obtained  the  honor  of  a  metrical  commemoration  — indeed,  to  say 
the  truth,  the  general  sympathy  with  this  tragic  event  was  not  derived 
chiefly  from  the  unhappy  tourist's  melancholy  end.  for  that  was  too 
shocking  to  be  even  hinted  at  by  either  of  the  two  writers,  (in  fact,  there 
was  too  much  reason  to  fear  that  it  had  been  the  lingering  death  of 
famine)  —  not  the  personal  sufferings  of  the  principal  figure  in  the  little 
drama — but  the  sublime  and  mysterious  fidelity  of  the  secondary 
figure,  his  dog  ;  this  it  was  which  won  the  imperishable  remembrance 
of  the  vales,  and  which  accounted  for  the  profound  interest  that  imme- 
diately gathered  round  the  incidents —  an  interest  that  still  continues  to 
hallow  the  memory  of  the  dog.  Not  the  dog  of  Athens,  nor  the  dog  of 
Pompeii,  so  well  deserve  the  immortality  of  history  or  verse.  Mr. 
Gough  was  a  young  man,  belonging  to  the  Society  of  '  Friends,'  who 
took  an  interest  in  the  mountain  scenery  of  the  lake  district,  both  as  a 
lover  of  the  picturesque,  and  as  a  man  of  science.  It  was  in  this  latter 
character,  1  believe,  that  he  had  ascended  Helvellyn  at  the  time  when 
he  met  his  melancholy  end.  From  his  local  familiarity  with  the 
ground  —  for  he  had  been  an  annual  visitant  to  the  lakes—  he  slighted 
the  usual  precaution  of  taking  a  guide ;  and,  proliably,  under  any  clear 
state  of  the  atmosphere,  he  might  have  found  the  attendance  of  such  a 
person  a  superfluous  restraint  upon  the  freedom  of  his  motions,  and  of 
his  solitary  thoughts.  Mist,  unfortunately  —  impenetrable  volumes  of 
mist  —  came  floating  over  (as  so  often  they  do)  from  the  gloomy  falls 
that  compose  a  common  centre  for  Easedale,  Langdale,  Eskdale,  Bor- 
rowdale,  Wasldale,  Gatesgarthdale,  (pronounced  Keskadale,)  and  En- 
nesdale.  Ten  or  fi.fteen  minutes  afford  ample  time  for  this  aerial 
navigation:  within  that  short  interval,  sunlight,  moonlight,  starlight, 
alike  disappear  ;  all  paths  are  lost ;  vast  precipices  are  concealed,  or 
filled  up  by  treacherous  draperies  of  vapor ;  the  points  of  the  compass 
are  irrecoverably  confounded  ;  and  one  vast  cloud,  too  ofien  the  cloud  of 
death  even  to  the  experienced  shepherd,  sits  like  a  vast  pavilion   upon 


92  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

a  fall  from  the  summit  of  awful  precipices  has  dismissed 
them  from  the  anguish  of  perplexity  in  the  extreme,  from 
the  conflicts  of  hope  and  fear,  and  in  the  same  moment 
perhaps   from   life.      Sometimes,   also,   the   mountainous 


the  summits  and  the  gloomy  coves  of  Helvellyn.  Mr.  Gough  ought  to 
have  allowed  for  this  not  unfrequent  accident,  and  fpr  its  bewildering 
effects,  under  which  all  local  knowledge  (even  that  of  shepherds)  be- 
comes in  an  instant  unavailing.  What  was  the  course  and  succession 
of  his  dismal  adventures,  after  he  became  hidden  from  the  world  by  the 
vapory  screen,  could  not  be  ever  deciphered  even  by  the  most  sagacious 
of  mountaineers,  although,  in  most  cases,  they  manifest  an  Indian  truth 
of  eye,  together  with  an  Indian  felicity  of  weaving  all  the  signs  that  the 
eye  can  gather  into  a  significant  tale,  by  connecting  links  of  judgment 
and  natural  inference,  especially  where  the  whole  case  ranges  within 
certain  known  limits  of  time  and  of  space  ;  but  in  this  case  two  accidents 
forbade  the  application  of  their  customary  skill  to  the  circumstances. 
One  was,  the  want  of  snow  at  the  time,  to  receive  the  impression  of  his 
feet  ;  the  other,  the  unusual  length  of  time  through  which  his  remains 
lay  undiscovered.  He  had  made  the  ascent  at  the  latter  end  of  October 
—  a  season  when  the  final  garment  of  snow,  which  clothes  Helvellyn 
from  the  setting  in  of  winter  to  the  sunny  days  of  June,  has  frequently 
not  made  its  appearance.  He  was  not  discovered  until  the  following 
spring,  when  a  shepherd,  traversing  the  coves  of  Helvellyn  or  of  Fair- 
field in  quest  of  a  stray  sheep,  was  struck  by  the  unusual  sound  (and  its 
echo  from  the  neighboring  rocks)  of  a  short,  quick  bark,  or  cry  of  dis- 
tress, as  if  from  a  dog  or  young  fox.  Mr.  Gough  had  not  been  missed: 
for  those  who  saw  or  knew  of  his  ascent  from  the  Wyburn  side  of  the 
mountain,  took  it  for  granted  that  he  had  fulfilled  his  intention  of 
descending  in  the  opposite  direction  into  the  valley  of  Paiterdale,  or 
into  the  Duke  of  Norfolk's  deer-park  on  Ulleswater,  or  possibly  into 
Matterdale;  and  that  he  had  finally  quilted  the  country  ])y  way  of  Pen- 
rith. Having  no  reason,  therefore,  to  expect  a  domestic  animal  in  a 
region  so  far  from  human  habitations,  the  shepherd  was  the  more  sur- 
prised at  the  sound,  and  its  continued  iteration.  He  followed  its  guid- 
ing, and  came  to  a  deep  hollow,  near  the  awful  curtain  of  rock  called 
SLrlding-E Igc.  There,  at  the  foot  of  a  tremendous  precipice,  lay  the 
body  of  the  unfortunate  tourist  ;  and,  watching  by  his  side,  a  meagre 
shadow,  literally  reduced  to  a  skin  and  to  bones  that  could  be  counted, 
(for  it  is  a  matter  of  absolute  demonstration  that  he  never  could  have 
obtained  either  food  or  shelter  through  his  long  winter's  imprisonment,) 
sate  this  most  faithful  of  servants  —  mounting  guard  upon  his  master's 


RECOLtECTIONS    OF    GRASMERE.  93 

solitudes  have  been  made  the  scenes  of  remarkable  sui- 
cides :  in  particular,  there  was  a  case,  a  little  before  I 
came  into  the  country,  of  a  studious  and  meditative  young 
boy,  who  found  no  pleasure  but  in  books,  and  the  search 
after  knowledge.  He  languislied,  with  a  sort  of  despairing 
nympholepsy,  after 'intellectual  pleasures  —  for  which  he 
felt  too  well  assured  that  his  term  of  allotted  time,  the 
short  period  of  years  through  which  his  relatives  had  been 
willing  to  support  him  at  St.  Bees,  was  rapidly  drawing  to 
an  end.  In  fact,  it  was  just  at  hand ;  and  he  was  sternly 
required  to  take  a  long  farewell  of  the  poets  and  geome- 
tricians for  whose  sublime  contemplations  he  hungered  and 
thirsted.  One  week  was  to  have  transferred  him  to  some 
huxtering  concern,  which  not  in  any  spirit  of  pride  he 
ever  affected  to  despise,  but  which  in  utter  alienation  of 
heart  he  loathed  —  as  one  whom  nature,  and  his  own 
diligent  cultivation  of  the  opportunities  recently  open  to 
him  for  a  brief  season,  had  dedicated  to  another  yoke.  He 
mused  —  revolved  his  situation  in  his  own  mind  —  com- 
puted his  power  to  liberate  himself  from  the  bondage  of 
dependency  —  calculated  the  chances  of  his  ever  obtaining 
this  liberation,  from  change  in  the  position  of  his  family, 
or  revolution  in  his  fortunes  —  and,  finally,  attempted  con- 
jecturally  to  determine  the  amount  of  effect  which  his  new 
and  illiberal  employments  might  have  upon  his  own  mind 
in  weaning  him  from  his  present  elevated  tasks,  and  unfit- 
ting him  for  their  enjoyment  in  distant  years,  when  cir- 


honored  body,  and  protecting  it  (as  he  had  done  effectually)  from  all 
violation  liy  ihe  birds  of  prey  which  haunt  the  central  solitudes  of  Hel- 
vellyn :  — 

'  How  nourish'd  through  that  length  of  time 
He  knows —  who  gave  that  love  sublime, 
And  sense  of  loyal  duty  —  great 
Beyond  all  humaa  estimate.' 


94  LITERARY   REMINISCENCES, 

cumstances  might  again  place  it  in  his  power  to  indulge 
them. 

These  meditations  were,  in  part,  communicated  to  a 
friend ;  and  in  part,  also,  the  result  to  which  they  brought 
him.  That  this  result  was  gloomy,  his  friend  knew ;  but 
not,  as  in  the  end  it  appeared,  that  it  was  despairing. 
Such,  however,  it  was :  and,  accordingly,  having  satisfied 
himself  that  the  chances  of  a  happier  destiny  were  for  him 
slight  or  none  —  and  having,  by  a  last  fruitless  effort, 
ascertained  that  there  was  no  hope  whatever  of  mollifying 
his  relatives,  or  of  obtaining  a  year's  delay  of  his  sentence 

—  he  walked  quietly  up  to  the  cloudy  wilderness  within 
Blencathara  ;  read  his  jEschylus,  (perhaps  in  those  appro- 
priate scenes  of  the  Prometheus,  that  pass  amidst  the  wild 
valleys  of  the  Caucasus,  and  below  the  awful  summits, 
untrod  by  man,  of  the  ancient  Elborus ;)  read  him  for  the 
last  time  ;  for  the  last  time  fathomed  the  abyss-like  sub- 
tilties  of  his  favorite  geometrician,  the  mighty  Apollonius  ; 
for  the  last  time  retraced  some  parts  of  the  narrative,  so 
simple  in  its  natural  grandeur,  composed  by  that  imperial 
captain,  the  most  majestic  man  of  ancient  history  — 

'  The  foremost  man  of  all  this  world,' 

in  the  confession  of  his  enemies  —  the  first  of  the  Cocsars. 
These  three  authors  —  ^Eschylus,  Apollonius,  and  Ctesar 

—  he  studied  until  the  daylight  waned,  and  the  stars  began 
to  appear.  Then  he  made  a  little  pile  of  the  three  vol- 
umes that  serve3  him  for  a  pillow  ;  took  a  dose,  such  as 
he  had  heard  would  be  sufficient,  of  laudanum ;  laid  his 
head  upon  the  records  of  the  three  mighty  spirits  of  elder 
times;  and,  with  his  face  upturned  to  the  heavens  and  the 
stars,  slipped  quietly  away  into  a  sleep  upon  which  no 
morning  ever  dawned.  The  laudanum  —  whether  it  were 
from  the  effect  of  the  open  air,  or  from  soi^e  peculiarity  of 


RECOLLECTIONS    OF   GRASMERE.  95 

temperament — hud  not  produced  ssickness  in  the  first 
stage  of  its  action,  nor  convulsions  in  the  last.  But  from 
the  serenity  of  his  countenance,  and  from  the  tranquil 
maintenance  of  his  original  supine  position  —  for  his  head 
was  still  pillowed  upon  the  three  intellectual  Titans, 
Greek,  and  Roman,  and  his  eyes  were  still  directed 
towards  the  stars  —  it  would  appear  that  he  had  died 
placidly,  and  without  a  struggle.  In  this  way,  the  im- 
prudent boy,  who,  like  Chatterton,  would  not  wait  for  the 
change  that  a  day  might  bring,  obtained  the  liberty  he 
sought ;  and  whatsoever,  in  his  last  scene  of  life,  was  not 
explained  by  the  objects  and  the  arrangement  of  the 
objects  about  him,  found  a  sufficient  solution  in  previous 
conversations  with  various  acquaintances,  and  in  his  con- 
fidential explanations  of  his  purposes,  which  he  had  com- 
municated, so  far  as  he  felt  it  safe,  to  his  only  friend. 

Reverting,  however,  from  this  little  episode  to  the  more 
ordinary  case  of  shepherds,  whose  duties,  in  searching 
after  missing  sheep,  or  after  sheep  surprised  by  sudden 
snow-drifts,  are  too  likely,  in  all  seasons  of  severity,  to 
bring  them  within  reach  of  dangers  which,  in  relation  to 
their  natural  causes,  must  probably  for  ever  remain  the 
same  ;  and  it  seems  the  more  surprising,  and  the  more  to 
be  deplored,  that  no  effort  has  been  made,  or  at  least  none 
commensurate  to  the  evil — none  upon  a  scale  that  can 
be  called  national  —  to  apply  the  resources  of  art  and 
human  contrivance,  in  any  one  of  many  possible  modes,  to 
the  relief  of  a  case  which,  in  some  years,  has  gone  near 
to  the  depopulation  of  a  whole  pastoral  hamlet,  as  respects 
the  most  vigorous  .and  hopeful  part  of  its  male  population; 
and  which  annually  causes,  by  its  mere  contemplation,  the 
heartache  to  many  a  young  wife,  and  many  an  anxious 
mother.  In  reality,  amongst  all  pastoral  districts,  whei'e 
the  field  of  their   labor   lies   in   mountainous   tracts,  an 


96  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

allowance  is  as  regularly  made  for  the  loss  of  human  life, 
in  severe  autumns  or  springs  —  by  accidents,  owing  to 
mists  or  storms  suddenly  enveloping  the  hills,  and  surpris- 
ing the  shepherds  —  as  for  the  loss  of  sheep:  some  pro- 
portion out  of  each  class  is  considered  as  a  kind  of  tithe- 
offering  to  the  stern  goddess  of  calamity,  and  in  the  light 
of  a  ransom  for  those  who  escape.  Grahame,  the  excel- 
lent author  of  the  '  Sabbath,'  says  that  (confining  himself 
to  Scotland)  he  has  known  winters  in  which  a  siugie  parish 
lost  as  many  as  ten  shepherds.  And  this  mention  of 
Grahame  reminds  me  of  a  most  useful  and  feasible  plan 
proposed  by  him  for  obviating  the  main  pressure  of  such 
situations,  amidst  snow  and  solitude,  and  night.  I  call  it 
feasible  with  good  reason;  for  Grahame,  who  doubtless 
had  made  the  calculations,  declares  that,  for  so  trifling  a 
sum  as  a  few  hundred  pounds,  every  square  mile  in  the 
southern  counties  of  Scotland,  (that  is,  I  presume,  through- 
out the  Lowlands,)  might  be  fitted  up  with  his  apparatus ; 
and,  when  that  sum  is  compared  with  the  lavish  expendi- 
ture upon  lifeboats,  it  will  appear  trivial  indeed.  He  pre- 
faces his  plan  by  one  general  remark,  to  which  I  believe 
that  every  mountaineer  will  assent,  viz.  that  the  vast 
majority  of  deaths  in  such  cases  is  owing  to  the  waste  of 
animal  power  in  trying  to  recover  the  right  direction  ;  and, 
probably,  it  would  be  recovered  in  a  far  greater  number  of 
instances,  were  the  advance  persisted  in  according  to  any 
unity  of  plan :  but  partly  the  distraction  of  mind,  and  ir- 
resolution, under  such  circumstances,  cause  the  wanderer 
frequently  to  change  his  direction  voluntarily,  according 
to  any  new  fancy  that  starts  up  to  beguile  him  ;  and  partly, 
he  changes  it  often  insensibly  and  unconsciously,  from  the 
same  cause  which  originally  led  him  astray.  Obviously, 
therefore,  the  primary  object  should  be,  to  compensate  the 
loss  of  distinct  vision  —  which,  for  the  present,  is  irrcpara- 


RECOLLECTIONS    OF    GRASMERE.  97 

ble  in  that  form  —  by  substituting  an  appeal  to  another 
sense.  That  error  which  h-is  been  caused  by  the  obstruc- 
tion of  the  eye,  ttiay  be  corrected  by  the  sounder  informa- 
tion of  the  ear.  Let  crosses,  such  as  are  raised  for  other 
purposes  in  Catholic  lands,  be  planted  at  intervals,  suppose 
of  one  mile,  in  every  direction.  '  Snow  storms,'  says  Gra- 
hame,  'are  almost  always  accompanied  with  wind.  Sup- 
pose, then,  a  pole,  fifteen  feet  high,  well  fixed  in  the 
ground,  with  two  cross  spars  placed  near  the  bottom,  to 
denote  the  airts,  (or  points  of  the  compass;)  a  bell  hung 
at  the  top  of  this  pole,  with  a  piece  of  flat  wood  (attached 
to  it)  -projecting  upwards,  would  ring  with  the  slightest 
breeze.  As  they  would  be  purposely  made  to  have  dif- 
ferent tones,  the  shepherd  would  soon  be  able  to  distin- 
guish one  from  another.  He  could  never  be  more  than  a 
mile  frjin  one  or  other  of  them.  On  coming  to  the  spot, 
he  would  at  once  know  the  points  of  the  compass,  and  of 
course,  the  direction  in  which  his  home  lay.'  This  is  part 
of  the"  note  attached  to  the  '  Winter  Sabbath  Walk,'  and 
particularly  referring  to  the  following  picturesque  pas- 
sages :  — 

'  Now  is  the  time 
To  visit  Nature  in  her  gnuid  attire; 
Though  perilous  the  mountainous  ascent, 
A  noble  recompense  the  danger  brings. 
ITow  beautiful  the  plain  stretch'J  far  below  ! 
Unvaried  though  it  be,  save  by  yon  stream 
AVitli  azure  windings,  or  the  leafless  wood. 
But  what  the  beauty  of  the  plain  conipar'd 
To  tliat  sublimity  which  reigns  enthrou'd, 
Holding  joint  rule  with  sclitude  divine, 
Anicng  yon  rocky  fells  that  bid  defiance 
To  steps  the  most  adventurously  bold  ? 
There  silence  dwells  profound  ;  or,  if  the  cry 
Of  liigh-pois'd  eagle  break  at  times  the  calm, 
The  mantled  echoes  no  response  return. 
VOL.   IX.  7 


98  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

But  let  me  now  explore  the  deep-sunk  dell. 
No  foot-print,  save  the  covey's  or  the  flock's. 
Is  seen  along  the  rill,  where  marshy  springs 
Still  rear  the  grassy  blade  of  vivid  green. 
Beware,  ye  shepherds,  of  these  treacherous  haunts; 
Nor  linger  there  too  long  :  the  wintry  day 
Soon  closes  ;  and  full  oft  a  heavier  fall, 
Heaped  by  the  blast,  fills  up  the  shelter'd  glen, 
While,  gurgling  deep  below,  the  buried  rill 
Mines  for  itself  a  snow-covered  way.     0  then 
Your  helpless  charge  drive  from  the  tempting  spot; 
And  keep  them  on  the  bleak  hill's  stormy  side. 
Where  night-winds  sweep  the  gathering  drift  away.' 

A  more  useful  suggestion  was  never  made.  Many 
thousands  of  lives  would  be  saved  in  each  century  by  the 
general  adoption  of  Mr.  Grahame's  plan  ;  and  two  or  three 
further  hints  may  be  added.  1.  Before  these  crosses  can 
be  sown  as  plentifully  as  he  proposes,  it  will,  in  a  large 
majority  of  cases,  answer  the  same  end,  to  make  such  an 
approximation  to  liis  plan  as  would  not  cost,  perhaps,  more 
than  one  quarter  of  the  first  expense,  viz.,  by  placing 
the  crosses  at  such  distances  that  the  bell  mi^ht  make  itself 
heard  :  suppose  the  intervals  to  be  four  miles,  then  the  great- 
est possible  distance  from  the  sound  would  be  two  miles  ; 
and  so  far  a  bell  might  send  its  sound  upon  the  breeze,  for 
there  will  be  always  some  of  these  crosses  to  windward. 
2.  They  might  be  made  of  cast-iron  —  as  one  means  of 
ensuring  their  preservation.  3.  There  might  be  a  box,  or 
little  cell  attached,  capable  of  receiving  one  person  ;  this 
should  be  suspended  at  a  height,  suppose  of  eight  feet,  from 
the  ground  ;  and  the  entrance  should  be  by  a  little  ladder 
leading  into  the  box  through  an  orifice  from  below;  which 
orifice  should  be  covered  by  a  little  door  or  lid  —  one  that 
should  open  inwards  when  pressed  by  the  head  of  the 
ascending  person.  Finally,  in  a  country  where  mile? 
stones  and  guide-posts   are  often  wantonly   mutilated  or 


RECOLLECTIONS    OF    GRASMERE.  99 

destroyed,  it  may  be  thought  that  these  crosses  would  not 
long  be  in  a  condition  to  do  their  office;  in  particular,  that 
the  bells  would  be  detached  and  carried  off.  But  it  should 
be  remembered,  that  even  mile-stones  on  the  most  public 
roads  have  ceased  to  be  injured  since  they  have  been  made 
of  iron  ;  that  these  crosses  never  would  be  in  a  populous 
region,  but  exactly  in  the  most  solitary  places  of  the  island  ; 
and  that  in  any  case  where  they  ceased  to  be  solitary, 
there  the  crosses  would  cease  to  be  necessary. 

Another  protecting  circumstance  would  rise  out  of  the 
simplicity  of  manners,  which  is  pretty  sure  to  prevail  in  a 
mountainous  region,  and  the  pious  tenderness  universally 
felt  towards  those  situations  of  peril,  which  are  incident  to 
all  alike  —  men  and  women,  parents  and  children,  the 
strong  and  the  weak.  The  crosses,  I  would  answer  for  it, 
whenever  they  are  erected,  will  be  protected  by  a  super- 
stition, such  as  that  which  in  Holland  consecrates  the  loss 
of  a  stork,  and  in  most  countries  of  some  animal  or  other. 
But  it  would  be  right  to  strengthen  this  feeling,  by  in- 
stilling it  as  a  principle  of  duty,  in  the  catechisms  of 
mountainous  regions  :  and,  perhaps,  also,  to  invest  this 
duty  with  a  religious  sanctity,  at  the  approach  of  every 
winter,  there  might  be  read  from  the  altar  a  solemn  com- 
mination,  such  as  that  which  the  English  Church  appoints 
for  Ash-VVednesday  —  'Cursed  is  he  that  removeth  his 
neighbor's  landmark,'  &c.,  &c.,  to  which  might  now  be 
added  —  'Cursed  is  he  that  causeth  the  steps  of  tho 
wayfarer  to  go  astray,  and  layeth  snares  for  the  belated 
traveller  in  the  wilderness;  cursed  is  he  that  removeth 
the  bell  from  the  snow-cross.'  And  every  child  might 
learn  to  fear  a  judgment  of  retribution  upon  its  own  steps 
in  case  of  any  such  wicked  action,  by  reading  the  tale  of 
him,  who,  in  order 

'  To  plague  the  Abbot  of  Aberbrotliocb,' 


100  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

removed  the  bell  from  the  Inchcape  rock  ;  which  same 
rock,  in  after  days,  and  for  want  of  this  very  warning 
bell,  inflicted  miserable  ruin  upon  himself,  his  ship,  and 
his  unoifending  crew.  Warning  sentences  should  also  be 
inscribed  upon  all  the  four  faces  of  the  little  cell,  that 
nobody  might  offend  in  a  spirit  of  jest  or  forgetful ness  ; 
and  as  the  century  advanced,  a  memorial  list,  (like  the 
Roman  votive  tahlels,  suspended  on  the  walls  of  temples,) 
should  be  firmly  attached  to  the  cross,  of  all  who  had 
benefited  by  its  shelter.  The  mere  fact  of  having 
ascended  the  ladder  being  taken  as  sufficient  evidence 
that  a  sanctuary  had  been  found  necessary.  The  sanctity 
of  the  place  might,  in  one  generation,  be  so  far  improved 
as  to  protect  a  small  supply  of  brandy  and  biscuit,  to  be 
lodged  there  on  the  coming  on  of  winter.  If  a  few 
rockets,  and  some  apparatus  for  lighting  a  match  were 
also  left  accessible  in  some  of  the  remoter  solitudes,  the 
storm-bound  and  exhausted  wanderer  would,  besides 
recruiting  his  strength,  find  it  possible  to  telegraph  his 
situation  to  some  one  of  the  neighboring  valleys.  Once 
made  sacred  from  violation,  these  crosses  might  after- 
wards be  made  subjects  of  suitable  ornament ;  that  is  to 
say,  they  might  be  madc^as  picturesque  in  form,  and 
color,  and  material,  as  the  crosses  of  Alpine  countries,  or 
the  guide-posts  of  England  often  are.  The  associated 
circumstances  of  storm  and  solitude,  of  winter,  of  night, 
and  wayfaring,  would  give  dignity  to  almost  any  form 
which  had  become  familiar  to  the  eye  as  the  one  appro- 
priated to  thi^  purpose ;  and  the  particular  form  of  a 
cross  or  crucifix,  besides  its  own  beauty,  would  suggest  to 
the  mind  a  pensive  allegoric  memorial  of  that  spiritual 
asylum,  offered  by  the  same  emblem  to  the  poor  erring 
roamer  in  our  human  pilgrimage,  whose  steps  are  beset 
with  other  snares,  and  whose  lieart  is  made  anxious  by 


RECOLLECTIONS    OF    GKASMEKE.  101 

another  darkness,  and  another  storm — the  darkness  of 
guih,  or  the  storm  of  allliction.  If  iron  was  found  too 
costly,  it  might  be  used  only  for  the  little  cell  ;  and  the 
rest  of  the  structure  might  be  composed  with  no  expense 
at  all,  except  the  labor,  (and  that  would  generally  be 
given  by  public  contribution  of  the  neighborhood,)  from 
the  rude  undressed  stones  which  are  always  found  lying 
about  in  such  situations,  and  which  are  so  sufficient  for 
all  purposes  of  strength,  that  the  field-walls,  and  by  far 
the  greater  number  of  the  dwelling-houses  in  Westmore- 
land, are  built  of  such  materials,  and,  until  late  years, 
without  mortar.*  But,  whatever  were  the  materials,  the 
name  of  these  rural  guides  and  asylums  —  'storm- 
crosses' —  would  continually  remind  both  the  natives  and 
strangers  of  their  purpose  and  functions  —  functions  that, 
in  the  process  of  time,  would  make  them  as  interesting  to 
the  imagination  and  to  the  memory,  as  they  would,  in 
fact,  be  useful  and  hope-sustaining  to  the  shepherd  sur- 
prised by  snow,  and  the  traveller  surprised  by  night. 


*  This  recent  chan2[e  in  the  art  of  rustic  masonry  by  the  adoption  of 
mortar,  does  not  mark  any  advance  in  that  art,  iiut,  on  the  coinrary,  a 
decay  of  skill  and  care.  Twenty  years  ago,  when  'dry'  wails  were  in 
general  use  except  for  a  superior  class  of  houses,  it  was  necessary  to 
supply  the  want  of  mortar  hy  a  much  nicer  adaptation  of  the  stones  to 
each  other.  But  now  this  care  is  regarded  as  quite  superfluous  ;  for  the 
largest  gaps  and  cavities  amongst  the  stones  are  filled  up  with  mortar; 
meantime,  the  walls  built  in  this  way  are  not  so  impervious  either  to 
rain  or  wind  as  those  upon  the  old  patent  construction  of  the  past  gene- 
ration. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE    SARACEN'S     HEAD. 

My  first  visit  to  the  Wordsworths  had  been  made  in 
November,  1807;  but,  on  that  occasion,  from  the  neces- 
sity of  saving  the  Michaelmas  term  at  Oxford,  for  which  I 
had  barely  left  myself  time,  I  stayed  only  one  week.  On 
the  last  day,  I  witnessed  a  scene,  the  first  and  the  last  of 
its  kind  that  ever  I  did  witness,  almost  too  trivial  to  men- 
tion, except  for  the  sake  of  showing  what  things  occur  in 
the  realities  of  experience,  which  a  novelist  could  not 
venture  to  imaaine.  Wordsworth  and  his  sister  were 
under  an  ensagement  of  some  standing  to  dine  on  that 
day  with  a  literary  lady  about  four  miles  distant ;  and,  as 
the  southern  mail,  which  I  was  to  catch  at  a  distance  of 
eighteen  miles,  would  not  pass  that  point  until  long  after 
midnight,  Miss  Wordsworth  proposed  that,  rather  than  pass 
my  time  at  an  inn,  I  should  join  the  dinner  party  ;  a  pro- 
posal rather  more  suitable  to  her  own  fervent  and  hospita- 
ble temper,  than  to  the  habits  of  our  hostess,  who  must 
(from  what  I  came  to  know  of  her  in  after  years)  have 
looked  upon  me  as  an  intruder.  Something  had  reached 
Miss  Wordsworth  of  her  penurious  menage,  but  nothin 
that  approached  the  truth.  I  was  presented  to  the  lady, 
whom  we  found  a  perfect  has  bleu  of  a  very  commonplace 
order,  but  having  some  other  accomplishments  beyond  her 
slender  acquaintance  with  literature.     Our  party  consisted 


or 


THE  Saracen's  head.  103 

of  six  —  our  hostess,  who  might  be  fifty  years  of  age  ;  a 
pretty  timid  young  woman,  who  was  there  in  the  character 
of  a  humble  friend  ;  some  stranger  or  other  ;  the  Words- 
worths,  and  myself.  The  dinner  was  the  very  humblest 
and  simplest  I  had  ever  seen — in  that  there  was  nothing 
to  offend  —  I  did  not  then  know  tliat  the  lady  was  very  rich 
—  but  also  it  was  flagrantly  insufficient  in  quantity.  Dinner, 
however,  proceeded  ;  when,  without  any  removals,  in 
came  a  kind  of  second  coarse,  in  the  shape  of  a  solitary 
pheasant.  This,  in  a  cold  manner,  she  asked  me  to  try  ; 
but  we,  in  our  humility,  declined  for  the  present ;  and  also 
in  mere  good-nature,  not  wishing  to  expose  too  palpably 
the  insufficiency  of  her  dinner.  May  I  die  the  death  of  a 
traitor,  if  she  did  not  proceed,  without  further  question  to 
any  one  of  us,  (and  as  to  the  poor  young  companion,  no 
form  of  even  invitation  was  conceded  to  her,)  and,  in  the 
eyes  of  us  all,  ate  up  the  whole  bird,  from  alpha  to  omega. 
Upon  my  honor,  I  thought  to  myself,  this  is  a  scene  I 
would  not  have  missed.  It  is  well  to  know  the  possibilities 
of  human  nature.  Could  she  have  a  bet  depending  on 
the  issue,  and  would  she  explain  all  to  us  as  soon  as  she 
had  won  her  wager  ?  Alas  !  no  explanation  ever  came, 
except,  indeed,  that  afterwards  her  character,  put  en 
evidence  upon  a  score  of  occasions,  too  satisfactorily 
explained  everything.  No;  it  was,  as  Mr.  Coleridge  ex- 
presses it,  a  psychological  curiosity  —  a  hollow  thing  — 
and  only  once  matched  in  all  the  course  of  my  reading,  in 
or  out  of  romances ;  but  that  once,  I  grieve  to  say  it,  was 
by  a  king,  and  a  sort  of  hero. 

The  Duchess  of  Marlborough  it  is,  who  reports  the 
shocking  anecdote  of  William  III.,  that  actually  Princess 
Anne,  his  future  wife,  durst  not  take  any  of  the  green 
peas  brought  to  the  dinner  table,  when  that  vegetable 
happened  to  be  as  yet  scarce  and  premature.     There  was 


104  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

a  gentleman  !  And  such  a  lady  had  we  for  our  hostess. 
However,  we  all  observed  a  suitable  gravity ;  but  after- 
wards, when  we  left  the  house,  the  remembrance  affected 
us  differcn'.ly  :  Miss  Wordsworth  laughed  with  undissem- 
bled  glee  ;  but  VVordswcjrth  thought  it  too  grave  a  matter 
for  laughing  —  he  was  thoroughly  disgusted;  and  said 
repeatedly,  a  person  cannot  be  honest,  positively  not 
honest,  who  is  capable  of  such  an  act.  The  lady  is  dead, 
and  I  shall  not  mention  her  name:  she  lived  only  to 
gratify  her  selfish  propensities  ;  and  two  little  anecdotes 
may  show  the  outrageous  character  of  her  meanness.  I 
was  now  on  the  debtor  side  of  her  dinner  account,  and, 
therefore,  in  a  future  year  she  readily  accepted  an  invita- 
tion to  come  and  dine  with  me  at  my  cottage.  But,  on  a 
subsequent  occasion,  when  1  was  to  have  a  few  literary 
people  at  dinner,  whom  I  knew  that  she  greatly  wished  to 
meet,  she  positively  replied  thus  :  —  '  No  ;  I  have  already 
come  with  my  young  lady  to  dine  with  you  ;  that  puts  me 
on  the  wrong  side  by  one  ;  now  if  I  were  to  come  again, 

as  I  cannot  leave  Miss behind,  I  shall  then  be  on  the 

wrong  side  by  three  ;  and  that  is  more  than  I  could  find 
opportunities  to  repay  before  I  go  up  to  London  for  the 
winter.'  '  Very  well,'  I  said,  '  give  me  3s.  and  that  will 
settle  the  account.'  She  laughed,  but  positively  persisted 
in  not  coming  until  after  dinner,  notwithstanding  she  had 
to  drive  a  distance  of  ten  miles. 

The  other  anecdote  is  worse.  She  was  exceedingly 
careful  of  her  health;  and  not  thinking  it  healthy  to  drive 
about  in  a  close  carriage,  which,  besides,  could  not  have 
suited  the  narrow  mountain  tracks,  to  which  her  sketching 
habits  attracted  her,  she  shut  up  her  town  carriage  for  the 
summer,  and  jobbed  some  little  open  car.  Being  a  very 
large  woman,  and,  moreover,  a  masculine  woman,  with  a 
bronzed   complexion,  and   always   choosing  to  wear,  at 


THE  Saracen's  head.  105 

night,  a  turban,  round  hair  that  was  as  black  as  that  of  the 
'  Moors  of  Malabar,'  siie  presented  an  exact  likeness  of 
a  Saracen's  Head,  as  painted  over  inn-doors  ;  whilst  the 
timid  and  delicate  young  lady  by  her  side,  looked  like 
'  dejected  Pity '  at  the  side  of  '  Revenge,'  when  as- 
suming the  war-denouncing  trumpet.  Some  Oxonians 
and  Cantabs,  who,  at  different  times,  were  in  the  habit 
of  meeting  this  oddly  assorted  party  in  all  nooks  of 
the  country,  used  to  move  the  question,  whether  the 
poor  horse  or  the  young  lady  had  the  worst  of  it  ? 
At  length  the  matter  was  decided  :  the  horse  was  fast 
going  off  this  sublunary  stage  ;  and  the  Saracen's  Head 
was  told  as  much,  and  with  this  little  addition  —  that 
his  death  was  owins:  infer  alia  to  starvation.  Her  answer 
was  remarkable: — 'But,  my  dear  madam,  that  is  his 
master's  fault;  I  pay  so  much  a-day  —  he  is  to  keep  the 
horse,'  That  might  be,  but  still  the  horse  was  dying  — 
and  dying  in  the  way  stated.  The  Saracen's  Head  per- 
sisted in  using  him  under  those  circumstances  —  such  was 
her  'bond'  —  and,  in  a  short  time,  the  horse  actually 
died.  Yes,  the  horse  died  —  and  died  of  starvation — or 
at  least  of  an  illness  caused  originally  by  starvation  :  for 
so  said,  not  merely  the  whole  population  of  the  little 
neighboring  town,  but  also  the  surgeon.  Not  long  after, 
however,  the  lady,  the  Saracen's  Head,  died  herself;  but 
I  fear,  not  of  starvation ;  for,  though  something  like  it 
did  prevail  at  her  table,  she  prudently  reserved  it  all  for 
her  guests ;  in  fact,  I  never  heard  of  such  vigilant  care, 
and  so  much  laudable  exertion,  applied  to  the  promotion  of 
health  :  yet  all  failed,  and  in  a  degree  which  confounded 
people's  speculations  upon  the  subject  —  for  she  did  not 
live  much  beyond  sixty  ;  whereas  everybody  supposed 
that  the  management  of  her  physical  system  entitled  her 


106  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

to  outwear  a   century.     Perhaps  the    prayers  of  horses 
might  avail  to  order  it  otherwise. 

But  the  singular  thing  about  this  lady's  mixed  and  con- 
tradictory character,  was,  that  in  London  and  Bath,  where 
her  peculiar  habits  of  life  were  naturally  less  accurately 
known,  she  maintained  the  reputation  of  one  who  united 
the  accomplishments  of  literature  and  art  with  a  remarka- 
ble'depth  of  sensibility,  and  a  most  amiable  readiness  to 
enter  into  the  distresses  of  her  friends,  by  sympathy  the 
most  cordial,  and  consolation  the  most  delicate.  More 
than  once  I  have  seen  her  name  recorded  in  printed  books, 
and  attended  with  praises  that  tended  to  this  effect.  I 
have  seen  letters  also,  from  a  lady  in  deep  affliction,  which 
spoke  of  the  Saracen's  Head  as  having  paid  her  the  first 
visit  from  which  she  drew  any  effectual  consolation.  Such 
are  the  erroneous  impressions  conveyed  by  biographical 
memoirs  ;  or,  which  is  a  more  charitable  construction  of 
the  case,  such  are  the  inconsistencies  of  the  human  heart ! 
And  certainly  there  was  one  fact,  even  in  her  Westmore- 
land life,  that  did  lend  some  countenance  to  the  southern 
picture  of  her  amiableness  —  and  this  lay  in  the  cheerful- 
ness with  which  she  gave  up  her  time  {time,  but  not  much 
of  her  redundant  money)  to  the  promotion  of  the  charita- 
ble schemes  set  on  foot  by  the  neighboring  ladies  ;  some- 
times for  the  education  of  poor  children,  sometimes  for 
the  visiting  of  the  sick,  dzc,  &c.  1  have  heard  several  of 
those  ladies  express  their  gratitude  for  her  exertions,  and 
declare  that  she  was  about  their  best  member.  But  their 
horror  was  undisguised  when  the  weekly  committee  came, 
by  rotation,  to  hold  its  sittings  at  her  little  villa  ;  for,  as 
the  business  occupied  them  frequently  from  eleven  o'clock 
in  the  forenoon  to  a  late  dinner  hour,  and  as  many  of  them 
had  a  fifteen  or  twenty  miles'  drive,  they  needed  some 
refreshments  :   but  these  were,  of  course,  a  '  great  idea ' 


THE  Saracen's  head.  107 

at  the  Saracen's  Head  ;  since,  according  to  the  epigram 
which  iUustrates  the  maxim  of  Tacitus,  that  omne  ignotum 
pro  magnifico,  and,  applying  it  to  the  case  of  a  miser's 
horse,  terminates  by  saying,  '  What  vast  ideas  must  he 
have  of  oats!' — upon  the  same  principle,  these  poor 
ladies,  on  these  fatal  committee  days,  never  failed  to  form  ■ 
most  exaggerated  ideas  of  bread,  butter,  and  wine.  And 
at  length,  some,  more  intrepid  than  the  rest,  began  to 
carry  biscuits  in  their  mufTs,  and,  with  the  conscious 
tremors  of  school  girls,  (profiting  by  the  absence  of  the 
mistress,  but  momentarily  expecting  detection,)  they  em- 
ployed some  casual  absence  of  their  unhostly  hostess  in 
distributing  and  eating  their  hidden  '  viaticum.'  How- 
ever,  it  must  be  acknowledged,  that  time  and  exertion,  and 
the  sacrifice  of  more  selfish  pleasure  during  the  penance 
at  the  school,  were,  after  all,  real  indications  of  kindness 
to  her  fellow-creatures;  and,  as  I  wish  to  part  in  peace, 
even  with  the  Saracen's  Head,  I  have  reserved  this  anec- 
dote to  the  last ;  for  it  is  painful  to  have  lived  on  terms  of 
good  nature,  and  exchanging  civilities,  with  any  human 
being,  of  whom  one  can  report  absolutely  no  good  thing  ; 
and  I  sympathize  heartily  with  that  indulgent  person  of 
whom  it  is  somewhere  recorded,  that  upon  an  occasion 
when  the  death  of  a  man  happened  to  be  mentioned,  who 
was  unanimously  pronounced  a  wretch  without  one  good 
quality,  '  monsirum  nuUd  virlute  redemptum,''  he  ventured, 
however,  at  last,  in  a  deprecatory  tone  to  say — '  Well,  he 
did  whistle  beautifully,  at  any  rate.' 

Talking  of  '  whistling,'  reminds  me  to  return  from  my 
digression  ;  for  on  that  night,  the  12th  of  November, 
1807,  and  the  last  of  my  visits  to  the  Wordsworths,  I  took 
leave  of  them  in  the  inn  at  Ambleside,  about  ten  at  night ; 
and  the  post-chaise  in  which  I  crossed  the  country  to  catch 
the    mail,    was    driven    by    a    postilion   who    whistled    so 


108  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

delightfully,  that,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  T  became 
aware  of  the  prodigious  powers  which  are  lodged  poten- 
tially in  so  despised  a  function  of  the  vocal  organs.  For 
the  whole  of  the  long  ascent  up  Orrest  Head,  which 
obliged  him  to  walk  his  horses  for  a  full  half-mile,  he 
made  the  woods  of  Windermere  rinu  with  the  canorous 
sweetness  of  his  half  flute  half  clarionet  music  ;  but,  in 
fact,  the  subtle  melody  of  the  effect  placed  it  in  power  far 
beyond  either  flute  or  clarionet.  A  year  or  two  after- 
wards, I  heard  a  fellow-servant  of  this  same  postilion's, 
a  black,  play  with  equal  superiority  of  effect  upon  the 
jaw's  harp  ;  making  that,  which  in  most  hands  is  a  mere 
monotonous  jarring,  a  dull  reverberating  vibration,  into  a 
delightful  lyre  of  no  inconsiderable  compass.  We  have 
since  heard  of,  some  of  us  have  heard,  the  chinchopper. 
Within  the  last  hundred  years,  we  have  had  the  ^olian 
harp,  (first  mentioned  and  described  in  the  'Castle  of 
Indolence,'  which  I  think  was  first  published  entire  about 
1738 ;)  then  the  musical  glasses ;  then  the  celestina,  to 
represent  the  music  of  the  spheres,  introduced  by  Mr. 
Walker,  or  some  other  lecturing  astronomer;  and  many 
another  fine  effect  obtained  from  trivial  means.  But,  at 
this  moment,  I  recollect  a  performance  perhaps  more 
astonishing  than  any  of  them  ;  a  Mr.  Worgman,  who  had 
very  good  introductions,  and  very  general  ones,  (for  he 
was  to  be  met  within  a  few  months  in  every  part  of  the 
island,)  used  to  accompany  himself  on  the  piano,  weaving 
extempore  long  tissues  of  impassioned  music,  that  were 
called  his  own,  but  which,  in  fact,  were  all  the  better  for 
not  being  such,  or  at  least  for  continually  embodying 
passages  from  Handel  and  Pergolesi.  To  this  substratum 
of  the  instrumental  music,  he  contrived  to  adapt  some 
unaccountable  and  indescribable  choral  accompaniment,  a 
pomp  of  sound,  a  tempestuous  blare  of  harmony  ascending 


THE  Saracen's  head.  109 

in  clouds,  not  from  any  ore,  but  apparently  from  a  band 
of  Mr.  Worgman's ;  for  sometimes  it  was  a  trumpet, 
sometimes  a  kettle-drum,  sometimes  a  cymbal,  sometimes 
a  bassoon,  and  sometimes  it  was  all  of  these  at  once. 

'  And  now  'twas  like  all  instruments  ; 

And  now  it  was  a  flute  ; 
And  now  it  was  an  angel's  voice, 

Tiiat  maketh  the  heavens  be  mute.' 

X 

In  this  case,  I  presume,  that  ventriloquism  must  have  had 
something  to  do  with  the  effect;  but  whatever  it  were,  the 
power  varied  greatly  with  the  state  of  his  spirits,  or  with 
some  other  fluctuating  causes  in  the  animal  economy. 
However,  the  result  of  all  these  experiences  is,  that  I  shall 
never  more  be  surprised  at  any  musical  effects,  the  very 
greatest  drawn  from  whatever  inconsiderable?  or  appa- 
rently inadequate  means  ;  not  even  if  the  butcher's  instru- 
ment, the  marrow-bones  and  cleaver,  or  any  of  those 
culinary  instruments  so  pleasantly  treated  by  Addison  in 
the  '  Spectator,'  such  as  the  kitchen  dresser  and  thumb, 
the  tongs  and  shovel,  the  pepper  and  salt-box,  should  be 
exalted,  by  some  immortal  butcher  or  inspired  scullion, 
into  a  sublime  harp,  dulcimer,  or  lute,  capable  of  wooing 
St.  Cecilia  to  listen,  able  even 

'  To  raise  a  mortal  to  the  skies, 
Or  draw  an  angel  down.' 

That  night,  as  I  was  passing  under  the  grounds  of 
EUeray,  then  belonging  to  a  Westmoreland  'statesman,' 
a  thought  struck  me,  that  I  was  now  traversing  a  road 
with  which,  as  yet,  I  was  scarcely  at  all  acquainted,  but 
which,  in  years  to  come,  might  perhaps  be  as  familiar  to 
my  eye  as  the  rooms  of  my  own  house  ;  and  possibly  that 
I  might  traverse  them  in  company  with  faces  as  yet  not 
even  seen  by  me,  but  in  those  future  years  dearer  than 


110  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

any  which  I  had  yet  known.  In  this  prophetic  glimpse 
there  was  nothing  very  marvellous ;  for  what  could  be 
more  natural  than  that  I  should  come  to  reside  in  the 
neighborhood  of  the  Wordsworths,  and  that  this  might 
lead  to  my  forming  connections  in  a  country  which  I 
should  consequently  come  to  know  so  well  ?  I  did  not, 
however,  anticipate  so  definitely  and  circumstantially  as 
all  this ;  but  generally  I  had  a  dim  presentiment  that  here, 
on  this  very  road,  I  should  often  pass,  and  in  company 
that  now,  not  even  conjecturally  delineated  or  drawn  out 
of  the  utter  darkness  in  which  they  were  as  yet  reposing, 
would  hereafter  plant  memories  in  my  heart,  the  last  that 
will  fade  from  it  in  the  hour  of  death.  Here,  afterwards, 
at  this  very  spot,  or  a  little  above  it,  but  on  this  very 
estate,  which  from  local  peculiarities  of  ground,  and  of 
sudden  angles,  was  peculiarly  kenspeck,  i.  e.,  easy  of 
recognition,  and  could  have  been  challenged  and  identified 
at  any  distance  of  years ;  here  afterwards  lived  Professor 
Wilson,  the  only  very  intimate  male  friend  I  have  had  ; 
here  too,  it  was,  my  M.,  that,  in  long  years  afterwards, 
through  many  a  score  of  nights  —  nights  often  dark  as 
Erebus,  and  amidst  thunders  and  lightnings  the  most  sub- 
lime—  we  descended  at  twelve,  one,  and  two  o'clock  at 
night,  speeding  from  Kendal  to  our  distant  home,  twenty 
miles  away.  Thou  wert  at  present  a  child  not  nine  years 
old,  nor  had  I  seen  thy  face,  nor  heard  thy  name.  But 
within  nine  years  from  that  same  night,  thou  wert  seated 
by  my  side;  —  and,  thenceforwards,  through  a  period  of 
fourteen  years,  how  often  did  we  two  descend,  hand 
Rocked  in  hand,  and  thinking  of  things  to  come,  at  a  pace 
of  hurricane  ;  whilst  all  the  sleeping  woods  about  us 
re-echoed  the  uproar  of  trampling  hoofs  and  groaning 
wheels.  Duly  as  we  mounted  the  crest  of  Orrest  Head, 
mechanically  and  of  themselves  almost,  and  spontaneously, 


THE  Saracen's  head.  Ill 

without  need  of  voice  or  spur,  according  to  Westmoreland 
usage,  the  horses  flew  off  into  a  gallop,  like  the  pace  of  a 
swallow.*  It  was  a  railroad  pace  that  we  ever  maintained  ; 
objects  were  descried  far  ahead  in  one  moment,  and  in 
the  next  were  crovvdins:  into  the  rear.  Three  miles  and  a 
half  did  this  storm  flight  continue,  for  so  long  the  descent 
lasted.  Then,  for  many  a  mile,  over  undulating  ground, 
did  we  ultimately  creep  and  fly,  until  again  a  long  precip- 
itous  movement,  again  a  storm  gallop,  that  hardly  suffered 
the  feet  to  touch  the  ground,  gave  warning  that  we  drew 
near  to  that  beloved  cottage  ;  warning  to  us  —  warning  to 
them  — 

'  the  silence  that  is  here 


Is  of  the  grave,  and  of  austere 
But  happy  feelings  of  the  dead.' 

Sometimes  the  nights  were  bright  with  cloudless  moon- 
light, and  of  that  awful  breathless  quiet  which  often  broods 
over  vales  that  are  peculiarly  landlocked,  and  which  is, 
or  seems  to  be,  so  much  more  expressive  of  a  solemn 
hush  and  a  Sabbath-like  rest  from  the  labors  of  nature, 
than  I  remember  to  have  experienced  in  flat  countries  :  — 

'  It  is  not  quiet  —  is  not  peace  — 
But  something  deeper  far  than  these.' 

And  on  such  nights  it  was  no  sentimental  refinement,  but 
a  sincere  and  hearty  feeling,  that,  in  wheeling  past  the 

*  It  may  be  supposed,  not  literally,  for  the  swallow,  (or  at  least  that 
species  called  the  swift,)  has  been  known  to  fly  at  the  rate  of  30u  miles 
an  hour.  Very  prohahly,  however,  this  pace  was  not  dertuced  from  an 
entire  hour's  performance,  hut  estimated  liy  proportion  from  a  fli<;ht  of 
one  or  two  minutes.  An  interesting  anecdote  is  told  hy  the  gi'iiilcman 
(1  believe  the  Rev.  E.  Stanley)  who  described  in  Blackicood's  Mugazine 
llie  opening  of  the  earliest  English  railway —  viz.  :  that  a  bird  (snipe 
was  it,  or  fieldfare,  or  plover?)  ran,  or  rather  flew,  a  race  with  the 
engine  for  three  or  four  ndles,  until  finding  itself  likely  to  be  beaten,  it 
then  suddeuly  wheeled  away  into  the  moors. 


112  LITERARY    REMIMSCENCES. 

village  churchyard  of  Stavely,  something  like  an  outrage 
seemed  offered  to  the  sanctity  of  its  graves,  by  the  uproar 
of  our  career.  Sometimes  the  nights  were  of  that  pitchy 
darkness  which  is  more  palpable  and  unfathomable  wher- 
ever hills  intercept  the  gleaming  of  light  which  other- 
wise is  usually  seen  to  linger  about  the  horizon  in  the 
northern  quarter  ;  and  then  arose  in  perfection  that  strik- 
ing effect,  when  the  glare  of  lamps  searches  for  one 
moment  every  dark  recess  of  the  thickets,  forces  them 
into  sudden,  almost  daylight  revelation,  only  to  leave  them 
within  the  twinkling  of  the  eye  in  darkness  more  pro- 
found; making  them,  like  the  snow-flakes  falling  upon  a 
cataract,  '  one  moment  bright,  then  gone  for  ever.'  But, 
dark  or  moonlight  alike,  in  every  instance  throiJghout  so 
long  a  course  of  years,  the  road  was  entirely  our  own  for 
the  whole  twenty  miles.  After  nine  o'clock,  not  many 
people  are  abroad  ;  after  ten,  absolutely  none,  upon  the 
roads  of  Westmoreland  ;  a  circumstance  which  gives  a 
peculiar  solemnity  to  a  traveller's  route  amongst  these 
quiet  valleys  upon  a  summer  evening  of  latter  May,  of 
June,  or  early  July ;  since,  in  a  latitude  so  much  higher 
than  that  of  London,  broad  daylight  prevails  to  an  hour 
long  after  nine.  Nowhere  is  the  holiness  of  vesper  hours 
more  deeply  felt.  And  now,  in  1839,  from  all  these  fly- 
\n^  journeys  and  their  stinfrins  remembrances,  hardiv  a 
wreck  survives  of  what  composed  their  living  equipage  : 
the  men  who  chiefly  drove  in  those  days  (for  I  have  ascer- 
tained it)  are  gone  ;  the  horses  are  gone  ;  darkness  rests 
upon  all,  except  myself.  I,  wo  is  me  !  am  the  solitary 
survivor  from  scenes  that  now  seem  to  me  as  fugitive  as 
the  flying  lights  from  our  lamps  as  they  shot  into  the  forest 
recesses.  God  forbid  that  on  such  a  theme  I  should  seem 
to  affect  sentimental  ism.  It  is  from  overmastering  recol- 
lections that  I  look  back  on  those  distant  days  ;  and  chiefly 


THE  Saracen's  head.  113 

I  have  suffered  myself  to  give   way  before  the  impulse 
that  haunts  me,  of  reverting  to  those  bitter,  bittpr  thoughts, 
in  order  to  notice  one  singular  waywardness  or  caprice 
(as  it  might  seem)  incident  to  the  situation,  which,  I  doubt 
not,  besieges  many  more  people  than  myself :  it  is,  that  I 
find  a  more  poignant  suffering,  a  pang  more  searching,  in 
going  back,  not  to  those  enjoyments  themselves,  and  the 
days  when  they  were  within  my  power,  but  to  times  an- 
terior, when  as  yet  they  did  not  exist ;  nay,  when  some 
who  were  chiefly  concerned  in  them  as  parties,  had  not 
even  been  born.     No  night,  I  might  almost  say,  of  my 
whole  life,  remains  so  profoundly,  painfully,  and  patheti- 
cally imprinted   on   my  remembrance,  as  this  very  one, 
on  which  I  tried  prelusively,  as  it  were,  that  same  road 
in  solitude,  and  lulled  by  the  sweet  carollings  of  the  pos- 
tilion, which,  after  an  interval  of  ten  years,  and  through 
a  period  of  more  than  equal  duration,  it  was  destined  that 
1  should  so  often  traverse  in  circumstances  of  happiness 
too  radiant,  that  for  me   are  burned  out  forever.     Cole- 
ridn-e  told  me  of  a  similar  case  that  had  fallen  within  his 
knowledge,   and    the    impassioned    expression   which   the 
feelinss  belonging  to  it   drew   from  a  servant  woman  at 
Keswick  :  —  She  had  nursed  some  boy,  either  of  his  or  of 
Mr.  Southey's  ;  the  boy  had  lived  apart  from  the  rest  of 
the  family,  secluded   with  his  nurse  in  her  cottage ;  she 
was  doatingly   fond   of  him  ;  lived,  in  short,  hij  him,  as 
well  as  for  him  ;    and  nearly  ten  years  of  her  life   had 
been  exalted  into  one  golden  dream  by  his  companionship. 
At  length  came  the  day  which  severed  the  connection  ; 
and  she,  in  the  anguish   of  the   separation,  bewailing  her 
future  loneliness,  and  knowing  too  well  that  education  and 
the  world,  if  it  left  him  some  kind  remembrances  of  her, 
never  could  restore  him  to  her  arms  the  same  fond  loving 
boy  that  felt  no  shame  in  surrendering  his  whole  heart  to 

VOL.   II.  8 


114  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

caressing  and  being  caressed,  did  not  revert  to  any  day  or' 
season  of  her  ten  years'  happiness,  but  went  back  to  the 
very  day  of  his  arrival,  a  particular  Thursday,  and  to  an 
hour  when,  as  yet,  she  had  not  seen  him,  exclaiming  — 
*  O  that  Thursday  !  O  that  it  could  come  back  !  that 
Thursday  when  the  chaise-wheels  were  ringing  in  the 
streets  of  Keswick  ;  when  yet  I  had  not  seen  his  bonny 
face  ;  but  when  he  was  coming  ! ' 

Ay,  reader,  all  this  may  sound  foolishness  to  you,  that 
perhaps  never  had  a  heartache,  or  that  may  have  all  your 
blessings  to  come.  But  now  let  me  return  to  my  narra- 
tive. After  about  twelve  months'  interval,  and  therefore 
again  in  November,  but  November  of  the  year  1808,  I 
repeated  by  visit  to  Wordsworlh,  and  upon  a  longer  scale. 
I  found  him  removed  from  his  cottage  to  a  house  of  con- 
siderable size,  about  three-quarters  of  a  mile  distant,  called 
Allan  Bank.  This  house  had  been  very  recently  erected, 
at  an  expense  of  about  =€1500,  by  a  gentleman  from  Liv- 
erpool, a  merchant,  and  also  a  lawyer  in  some  department 
or  other.  It  was  not  yet  completely  finished  ;  and  an  odd 
accident  was  reported  to  me  as  having  befallen  it  in  its 
earliest  stage.  The  walls  had  been  finished,  and  this 
event  was  to  be  celebrated  at  the  village  inn  with  an 
ovation^  previously  to  the  triumph  that  would  follow  on 
the  roof-raising.  The  workmen  had  all  housed  themselves 
at  the  Red  Lion,  and  were  beginning  their  carouse,  when 
up  rode  a  traveller,  who  brought  them  the  unseasonable 
news,  that,  whilst  riding  along  the  vale,  he  had  beheld  the 
downfall  of  the  whole  building.  Out  the  men  rushed, 
lioping  that  this  might  be  a  hoax  ;  but  too  surely  they 
found  his  report  true,  and  their  own  festival  premature.  A 
little  malice  mingled  unavoidably  with  the  laughter  of  the 
Dalesmen  ;  for  it  happened  that  the  Liverpool  gentleman 
had  offered  a  sort  of  insult  to  the  native  artists,  by  bring- 


THE    SARACEn's    HEAD.  115 

ing  down  both  masons  and  carpenters  from  his  own  town  ; 
an  unwise  i)l;ui,  for  they  were  necessarily  unacquainted 
wiili  many  points  of  local  skill  ;  and  it  was  to  some 
ignorance  in  their  mode  of  laying  the  stones  that  the 
accident  was  due.  The  house  had  one  or  two  capital 
defects  —  it  was  cold,  damp,  and,  to  all  appearance, 
incurably  smoky.  Upon  this  latter  defect,  by  the  way, 
Wordsworth  founded  a  claim,  not  for  diminution  of  rei'.t, 
but  absolutely  for  entire  immunity  from  any  rent  at  all. 
It  was  truly  comical  to  hear  him  argue  the  point  with  the 
Liverpool  proprietor,  Mr.  C.  lie  went  on  dilating  on  the 
liardship  of  living  in  such  a  house  ;  of  the  injury,  or 
suffering,  at  least,  sustained  by  the  eyes  ;  until,  at  last,  he 
had  drawn  a  picture  of  himself  as  a  very  ill  used  man; 
and  I  seriously  expected  to  hear  him  sum  up  by  demand- 
intr  a  round  sum  for  damages.  Mr.  C.  was  a  very  good- 
natured  man,  calm,  and  gentlemanlike  in  his  manners. 
He  had  also  a  considerable  respect  for  Wordsworth, 
derived,  it  may  be  supposed,  not  from  his  writings,  but 
from  the  authority  (which  many  more  besides  him  could  not 
resist)  of  his  conversation.  However,  he  looked  grave 
and  perplexed.  Nor  do  I  know  how  the  matter  ended  ; 
but  I  mention  it  as  an  illustration  of  Wordsworth's  keen 
spirit  of  business.  Whilst  foolish  people  supposed  him  a 
mere  honeyed  sentimentalist,  speaking  only  in  zephyrs 
and  bucolics,  he  was  in  fact  a  somewhat  hard  pursuer  of 
what  he  thought  fair  advantages. 

In  the  February  which  followed,  I  left  Allan  Bank  ;  but 
upon  Miss  Wordsworth's  happening  to  volunteer  the  task  of 
furnishing  for  my  use  the  cottage  so  recently  occupied  by 
her  brother's  family,  I  took  it  upon  a  seven  years'  lease. 
And  thus  it  happened  — this  I  mean  was  the  mode  of  it, 
(for,  at  any  rate,  I  should  have  settled  somewhere  in  tho 
country,)  that  I  became  a  resident  in  Grasmere. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

SOCIETY    OF    THE    LAKES. 

In  February,  as  I  have  said,  of  1809, 1  quitted  Allan 
Bank;  and,  from  that  time  until  the  depth  of  summer, 
Miss  Wordsworth  was  employed  in  the  task  she  had 
volunteered,  of  renewing  and  furnishing  the  little  cottage 
in  which  I  was  to  succeed  the  illustrious  tenant  who  had, 
in  my  mind,  hallowed  the  rooms  by  a  seven  years'  occu- 
pation, during,  perhaps,  the  happiest  period  of  his  life 
—  the  early  years  of  his  marriage,  and  of  his  first 
acquaintance  with  parental  affections.  Cottage,  immortal 
in  my  remembrance  !  as  well  it  might  be;  for  this  cottage 
I  retained  through  just  seven-and-twenty  years  :  this  was 
the  scene  of  struggles  the  most  tempestuous  and  bitter 
within  my  own  mind  :  this  the  scene  of  my  despondency 
and  unhappiness:  this  the  scene  of  my  happiness  —  a 
happiness  which  justified  the  fiiith  of  man's  earthly  lot, 
as,  upon  the  whole,  a  dowry  from  heaven.  It  was,  in  its 
exterior,  not  so  much  a  picturesque  cottage  —  for  its 
outline  and  proportions,  its  windows  and  its  chimneys, 
were  not  sufficiently  marked  and  effective  for  the  pic- 
turesque *  — as  it  was  lovely  :  one  gable  end  was,  indeed. 


*The  i:lea  of  the  picturesque  is  one  which  did  not  exist  at  all  until 
the  post-Christian  ages  ;  neither  amongst  the  Grecians  nor  amongst  the 
Romans  ;  and  Ihcrrforc,  as  respects  one  reason,  it  was,  that  the  art  of 
landscape  painting  did  not  esist  (except  in  a  Chinese  infancy,  and  as  a 


SOCIETY    OF   THE    LAKES.  117 

most  gorgeously  appareled  in  ivy,  and  so  far  picturesque  ; 
but  the  principal  side,  or  what  might  be  called  front,  as  it 
presented  itself  to  the  road,  and  was  most  illuminated  by 
windows,  was  embossed  —  nay,  it  might  be  said,  smothered 
—  in  roses  of  different  species,  amongst  which  the  moss 
and  the  damask  prevailed.     These,  together  with  as  much 

mere  irick  of  inventive  ingenuity)  amongst  the  finest  artists  of  Greece. 
What  is  picturesque,  as  placed  in  relation  to  the  beautiful  and  the  sub- 
lime? It  is  (to  di'fiiie  it  by  the  very  shortest  form  of  words)  the  char- 
acteristic, pu>hed  into  a  sensible  excess.  The  prevailing  character  of 
any  natural  object,  no  matter  how  little  attractive  it  may  be  for  beauty, 
is  always  interesting  for  itself,  as  the  character  and  hieroglyphic  symbol 
of  the  purposes  pursued  by  Nature  in  the  determination  of  its  form, 
style  of  motion,  texture  of  superficies,  relation  of  parts,  &c. 

Thus,  for  example,  an  expression  of  dulness  and  sonmolent  torpor 
does  not  ally  itself  with  grace  or  elegance  ;  but,  in  combination  with 
strength  and  other  qualities,  it  may  compose  a  character  of  serviceable 
and  patient  endurance,  as  in  the  cart-horse,  having  unity  in  itself,  and 
tending  to  one  class  of  uses  sufficient  to  mark  it  out  by  circumscription 
for  a  distinct  and  separate  contemplation.  Now,  in  combination  with 
certain  counteracting  circumstances,  as  with  the  momentary  energy  of 
some  great  effort,  much  of  this  peculiar  character  might  be  lost,  or  de- 
feated, or  dissipated.  On  that  account,  the  skilful  observer  will  seek 
out  circumstances  that  are  in  harmony  with  the  principal  tendencies  and 
assist  them  ;  such,  suppose,  as  a  state  of  lazy  relaxation  from  labor,  and 
the  fall  of  heavy  drenching  rain  ciusing  the  head  to  droop,  and  the 
shaggy  mane,  together  with  the  fetlocks,  to  weep.  These,  and  other 
circumstances  of  attitude,  &c.,  bring  out  the  character  or  prevailing 
tendency  of  the  animal  in  some  excess;  and,  in  such  a  case,  we  call  the 
resulting  effect  to  the  eye  —  picturesque  :  or,  in  fact,  characleresquc.  Ira 
extending  this  speculation  to  objects  of  art  and  human  purposes,  there 
is  something  more  required  of  subtle  investigation.  Meantime,  it  is 
evident  that  neither  the  sublime  nor  tjie  beautiful  depends  upon  any 
secondary  interest  of  a  purpose  or  of  a  character  expressing  that  purpose. 
They  (confining  the  case  to  visual  objects)  court  the  primary  interest 
involved  in  that  (form,  color,  texture,  attitude,  motion.)  which  forces 
admiration,  which  fascinates  the  eye,  for  itself,  and  without  a  question 
of  any  distinct  purpose:  and,  instead  of  character— that  is,  discrimi- 
nating and  separating  expression,  tending  to  the  special  and  the  indi- 
vidual—they  both  agree  in  pursuing  the  Catholic  —  the  Normal  —  the' 
Ideal. 


118  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

jessamine  and  honeysuckle  as  could  find  room  to  flourish, 
were  not  only  in  themselves  a  most  interesting  garniture 
for  a  humble  cottage  wall,  but  they  also  performed  the 
acceptable  service  of  breaking  the  unpleasant  glare  that 
would  else  have  wounded  the  eye,  from  the  whitewash  ;  a 
glare  which,  having  been  renewed  amongst  tlie  general 
preparations  against  my  coming  to  inhabit  the  house,  could 
not  be  sufficiently  subdued  in  tone  for  the  artist's  eye 
until  the  storm  of  several  winters  had  weather-stained 
and  tamed  down  its  brilliancy.  The  Westmoreland 
cottages,  as  a  class,  have  long  been  celebrated  for  their 
picturesque  forms,  and  very  justly  so  :  in  no  part  of  the 
world  are  cottages  to  be  found  more  strikingly  interesting 
to  the  eye  by  their  general  outlines,  by  the  sheltered 
porches  of  their  entrances,  by  their  exquisite  chimneys,  by 
their  rustic  windows,  and  by  the  distribution  of  the  parts. 
These  parts  are  on  a  larger  scale,  both  as  to  number  and 
size,  than  a  stranger  would  expect  to  find  as  dependencies 
and  out-houses  attached  to  dwelling-houses  so  modest ; 
chiefly  from  the  necessity  of  making  provision,  both  in 
fuel  for  themselves,  and  in  hay,  straw,  and  brackens  for 
the  cattle  against  the  long  winter.  But,  in  praising  the 
Westmoreland  dwellings,  it  must  be  understood  that  only 
those  of  the  native  Dalesmen  are  contemplated  ;  for  as  to 
those  raised  by  the  alien  intruders  —  'the  lakers,'  or 
'foreigners'  as  they  are  sometimes  called  by  the  old 
indigenous  possessors  of  the  soil  —  these  being  designed 
to  exhibit  'a  taste '  and  an  eye  for  the  picturesque,  are 
pretty  often  mere  models  of  deformity,  as  vulgar  and  as 
silly  as  it  is  well  possible  for  any  object  to  be,  in  a  case 
where,  after  all,  the  workman,  and  obedience  to  custom, 
and  the  necessities  of  the  ground,  &c.,  will  often  step  in 
to  compel  the  archilects  into  common  sense  and  propriety. 
The   main  defect  in  Scottish  scenery,  the  eyesore  that 


SOCIETY    OF    THE    LAKES.  119 

disfigures  so  many  charming  combinations  of  landscape, 
is  the  otTensive  style  of  the  rural  architecture  ;  but  still, 
even  where  it  is  worst,  the  mode  of  its  offence  is  not  by 
affectation  and  conceit,  and  preposterous  attempts  at 
realizing  sublime,  Gothic,  or  castellated  effects  in  little 
gingerbread  ornaments,  and  'tobacco  pipes,'  and  make- 
believe  parapets,  and  towers  like  kitchen  or  hot-houso 
flues  ;  but  in  the  hard  undisguised  pursuit  of  mere  coarse 
uses  and  needs  of  life. 

Too  often,  the  rustic  mansion,  that  should  speak  of 
decent  poverty  and  seclusion,  peaceful  and  comfortable, 
wears  the  most  repulsive  air  of  town  confinement  and 
squalid  indigence ;  the  house  being  built  of  substantial 
stone,  three  stories  high,  or  even  four,  the  roof  of  massy 
slate ;  and  everything  strong  which  respects  the  future 
outlay  of  the  proprietor  —  everything  frail  which  respects 
the  comfort  of  the  inhabitants :  windows  broken  and 
stuffed  up  with  rags  or  old  hats ;  steps  and  door  en- 
crusted with  dirt;  and  the  whole  tarnished  with  smoke. 
Poverty  —  how  diflerent  the  face  it  wears  looking  with 
meagre  staring  eyes  from  such  a  city  dwelling  as  this, 
and  when  it  peeps  out,  with  rosy  cheeks,  from  amongst 
clustering  roses  and  woodbines,  at  a  little  lattice,  from  a 
little  one-story  cottage  !  Are,  then,  the  main  character- 
istics of  the  Westmoreland  dwelling-houses  imputable  to 
superior  taste  ?  By  no  means.  Spite  of  all  that  I  have 
heard  Mr.  Wordsworth  and  others  say  in  maintaining 
that  opinion,  I,  for  my  part,  dp  and  must  hold,  that  the 
Dalesmen  produce-  none  of  the  happy  effects  which  fre- 
quently arise  in  their  domestic  architecture  under  any 
search  after  beautiful  forms,  a  search  which  they  despise 
with  a  sort  of  Vandal  dignity  ;  no,  nor  with  any  sense  or 
consciousness  of  their  success.  How  then  ?  Is  it  acci- 
dent—  mere   casual  good  luck  —  that   has  brought  forth, 


120  LITERAKY    REMINISCENCES. 

for  instance,  so  many  exquisite  forms  of  chimneys  ?  Not 
so ;  but  it  is  this :  it  is  good  sense,  on  the  one  hand, 
bendino;  and  conformino;  to  the  dictates  or  even  the 
suggestions  of  the  climate,  and  the  local  circumstances  of 
rocks,  water,  currents  of  air,  &.c. ;  and,  on  the  other  hand, 
wealth  sufficient  to  arm  the  builder  with  all  suitable  means 
for  giving  effect  to  his  purpose,  and  to  evade  the  necessity 
of  make-shifts.  But  the  radical  ground  of  the  interest 
attached  to  Westmoreland  cottage  architecture,  lies  in  its 
submission  to  the  determining  agencies  of  the  surrounding 
circumstances;  such  of  them,  I  mean,  as  are  permanent, 
and  have  been  gathered  from  long  experience.  The 
porch,  for  instance,  which  does  so  much  to  take  away  from 
a  house  the  character  of  a  rude  box,  pierced  with  holes 
for  air,  light,  and  ingress,  has  evidently  been  dictated  by 
the  sudden  rushes  of  wind  through  the  mountain  '  ghylls,' 
which  make  some  kind  of  protection  necessary  to  the 
ordinary  door ;  and  this  reason  has  been  strengthened  in 
cases  of  houses  near  to  a  road,  by  the  hospitable  wish  t(f 
provide  a  sheltered  seat  for  the  wayfarer  ;  most  of  these 
porches  being  furnished  with  one  in  each  of  the  two 
recesses,  to  the  right  and  to  the  left. 

The  long  winter  again,  as  f  have  already  said,  and  the 
artificial  prolongation  of  the  winter,  by  the  necessity  of 
keeping  the  sheep  long  upon  the  low  grounds,  creates  a 
call  for  large  out-houses ;  and  these,  for  the  sake  of 
warmth,  are  usi^ally  placed  at  right  angles  to  the  house  ; 
which  the  effect  of  making  a  much  larger  system  of  parts 
than  would  else  arise.  But  perhaps  the  main  feature, 
which  gives  character  to  the  pile  of  building,  is  the  roof, 
and,  above  all,  the  chimneys.  It  is  the  remark  of  an 
accomplished  Edinburgh  artist,  H.  W.  Williams,  in  the 
course  of  his  strictures*  upon  the  domestic  architecture 

*  Travels  ia  Italy,  Greece,  and  the  louiaa  Islands,  vol.  i.  p.  74,  75. 


SOCIETY    OF    THE    LAKES.  121 

of  the  Italians,  and  especially  of  the  Florentines,  that  the 
character  of  buildings,  in  certain  circumstances,  '  depends 
wholly    or   chiefly    on    the    form    of    the    roof    and    the 
chimney.     This,'  he  goes  on,  '  is  particularly  the  case  in 
Italy,  where    more  variety  and    taste   is  displayed  in  the 
chimneys   than   in  the    buildings   to   which    they  belong. 
These    chimneys   are    as    peculiar   and    characteristic  as 
palm   trees  in  a  tropical  climate.'     Again,  in  speaking  of 
Calabria   and   the    Ionian    Islands,   he  says  —  'We   were 
forcibly  struck  with  the  consequence  which  the  beauty  of 
the   chimneys    imparted    to   the   character  of  the   whole 
building.'     Now,   in    Great    Britain,   he    complains,   with 
reason,  of  the  very  opposhe  result;  not  the  plain  building 
ennobled  by  the  chimney  ;  but  the  chimney  degrading  the 
noble  building;  and  in   Edinburgh,  especially,  where   the 
homely  and   inelegant  appearance  of  the   chimneys  con- 
trasts   most   disadvantageously    and   offensively   with    the 
beauty    of  the   buildings   which    they    surmount.'     Even 
here,  however,  he  makes  an  exqgption  for  some  of  the  old 
buildings,  '  whose  chimneys,'  he  admits,  '  are  very  taste- 
fully decorated,  and  contribute  essentially  to  the  beauty 
of   the    general    effect.'     It  vi^  probable,    therefore,   and 
many  houses  of  the   Elizabethan  era  confirm    it,  that  a 
better  taste  prevailed,  in  this  point,  amongst  our  ancestors, 
both  Scottish  and   English ;  that   this  elder  fashion  trav- 
elled,  together  with    many  other  usages,  from  the  richer 
parts  of  Scotland  to  the  Borders,  and  thence  to  the  vales 
of  Westmoreland  ;    where    they  have   continued    to    pre- 
vail,  from    their  affectionate    adhesion  to  all   patriarchal 
customs.      Some    undoubtedly,    of    these    Westmoreland 
forms    have    been    dictated    by   the    necessities   of    the 
weather,  and  the  systematic  energies  of  human  skill,  from 
age  to  age,  applied  to  the  very  difficult  task   of  training 
smoke  into  obedience,  under  the  peculiar  difficulties  pre- 


122  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

sented  by  the  sites  of  Westmoreland  houses.  These  are 
chosen,  generally  speaking,  with  the  same  good  sense  and 
regard  to  domestic  comfort,  as  the  primary  consideration 
(without,  however,  disdainfully  slighting  the  sentiment, 
whatever  it  were,  of  peace,  of  seclusion,  of  gaiety,  of 
solemnity,  the  special  '  religio  loci')  which  seems  to  have 
guided  the  choice  of  those  wlio  founded  religious  houses. 

And  here,  again,  by  the  way,  appears  a  marked  dif- 
ference between  the  Dalesmen  and  the  intrusive  gentry 
—  not  creditable  to  the  latter.  The  native  Dalesmen,  well 
aware  of  the  fury  with  which  the  wind  often  gathers  and 
eddies  about  any  eminence,  however  trifling  its  elevation, 
never  thinks  of  planting  his  house  there :  whereas  the 
stranger,  singly  solicitous  about  the  prospect  or  the  range 
of  lake  which  his  gilt  saloons  are  to  command,  chooses 
his  site  too  often  upon  points  better  fitted  for  a  temple  of 
Eolus  than  a  human  dwelling-place;  and  he  belts  his 
house  with  balconies  and  verandas  that  a  mountain  gale 
often  tears  away  in  mockery.  The  Dalesman,  wherever 
his  choice  is  not  circumscribed,  selects  a  sheltered  s|)Ot, 
(a  xvray*  for  instance,)  which  protects  him  from  the  wind 
altogether,  upon  one  or  two  quarters,  and  on  all  quarters 
from  its  tornado  violence  :  he  takes  good  care,  at  the  same 
time,  to  be  within  a  few  feet  of  a  mountain  beck  :  a  caution 
so  little  heeded  by  some  of  the  villa  founders,  that  abso- 
lutely, in  a  country  surcharged  with  water,  they  have  some- 
times found  themselves  driven,  by  sheer  necessity,  to  the 
after-thought  of  sinking  a  well.  The  very  best  situation, 
however,  in  other  res[)ects,  may  be  bad  in  one  ;  and  some- 
times find  its  very  advantages,  and  the  beetling  crags  which 
protect  its  rear,  obstructions  the  most  permanent  to  the 
ascent  of  smoke  ;  and  it  is  in  the  contest  with  these  natural 

*  Wrnie  is  ihe  old  Danish,  or  Icelandic  word  for  angle.  Hence  the 
many  '  wrays  '  in  the  lake  district. 


SOCIETY    OF    THE    LAKES.  123 

bafilinji;  repellents  of  tlie  smoke,  and  in  tlie  variety  of  arti- 
fices for  modifying  its  vertical,  or  for  accomplishing  its 
lateral  escape,  that  have  arisen  the  large  and  graceful  vari- 
ety of  chimney  models.  My  cottage,  wanting  this  primary 
feature  of  elegance  in  the  constituents  of  Westmoreland 
cottage  architecture,  and  wanting  also  another  very  in- 
teresting feature  of  the  elder  architecture,  annually  be- 
coming more  and  more  rare,  viz.,  the  outside  gallery, 
(which  is  sometimes  merely  of  wood,  but  is  much  more 
striking  when  provided  for  in  the  original  construction  of 
the  house,  and  completely  enfonce  in  the  masonry,)  could 
not  rank  high  amongst  the  picturesque  houses  of  the 
country ;  those,  at  least,  which  are  such  by  virtue  of  their 
architectural  form.  It  was,  however,  very  irregular  in  its 
outline  to  the  rear,  by  the  aid  of  one  little  projecting 
room,  and  also  of  a  stable  and  little  barn,  in  immediate 
contact  with  the  dwelling-house.  It  had,  besides,  the  great 
advantage  of  a  varying  height :  two  sides  being  about 
fifteen  or  sixteen  feet  high  from  the  exposure  of  both 
stories;  whereas  the  other  two  being  swathed  about  by  a 
little  orchard  that-rose  rapidly  and  unequally  towards  the 
vast  mountain  range  in  the  rear,  exposed  only  the  upper 
story  ;  and,  consequently,  on  those  sides  the  elevation 
rarely  rose  beyond  seven  or  eight  feet.  All  these  acci- 
dents of  irregular  form  and  outline,  gave  to  the  house 
some  little  pretensions  to  a  picturesque  character ;  whilst 
its  'separable  accidents'  (as  the  logicians  say)  —  its 
bowery  roses  and  jessamine  clothed  it  in  loveliness  —  its 
associations  with  Wordsworth  —  crowned  it,  to  my  mind, 
with  historical  dignity;  and,  finally,  my  own  twenty-seven 
years  off'-and-on  connection  with  it,  have,  by  ties  personal 
and  indestructible,  endeared  it  to  my  heart  so  unspeakably 
beyond  all  other  houses,  that  even  now  I  rarely  dream 
through   four  nights  running,  that  I  do  not  find   myself 


124  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

(and  others  beside)  in  some  one  of  those  rooms ;  and, 
most  probably,  the  last  cloudy  delirium  of  approaching 
death  will  re-install  me  in  some  chamber  of  that  same 
humble  cottage.  '  What  a  talc,'  says  Foster,  the  eloquent 
essayist  — '  what  a  tale  could  be  told  by  many  a  room, 
were  the  walls  endowed  with  memory  and  speech  ! '  or, 
in  the  more  impassioned  expressions  of  Wordsworth  — 

'  Ah  !  what  a  lesson  to  a  thouglitless  man 

if  any  gladsome  field  of  earth 

Could  render  back  the  siglis  to  which  it  hath  responded, 
Or  echo  the  sad  steps  by  wliich  it  hath  been  trod  !  ' 

And  equally  affecting  it  would  be,  if  such  a  field  or  such 
a  house  could  render  up  the  echoes  of  joy,  of  festal  music, 
of  jubilant  laughter  —  the  innocent  mirth  of  infants,  or 
the  gaiety,  not  less  innocent,  of  youthful  mothers  — 
equally  affecting  would  be  such  a  reverberation  of  for- 
gotten household  happiness,  with  the  re-echoing  records 
of  sighs  and  groans.  And  few  indeed  are  the  houses  that, 
within  a  period  no  longer  than  from  the  beginning  of  the 
century  to  1835  (so  long  was  it  either  mine  or  W^ords- 
worth's)  have  crowded  such  ample  materia.ls  for  those 
echoes,  whether  sorrowful  or  joyous. 

SOCIETY    OF    THE    LAKES. 

My  cottage  was  ready  in  the  summer  ;  but  I  was  play- 
ing truant  amongst  the  valleys  of  Somersetshire ;  and, 
meantime,  different  families,  throughout  the  summer,  bor- 
rowed the  cottage  of  the  Wordsworths  as  my  friends  ;  they 
consisted  chiefly  of  ladies ;  and  some,  by  the  delicacy  of 
their  attentions  to  the  flowers,  &c.,  gave  me  reason  to  con- 
sider their  visit  during  my  absence  as  a  real  honor  ;  others 
—  such  is  the  difference  of  people  in  this  world  —  left  the 
rudest  memorials  of  their  careless  habits  impressed  upon 


SOCIETY    OF    THE    LAKES.  125 

house,  furniture,  garden,  &c.  In  November,  at  last,  I^ 
the  long-expected,  made  my  appearance ;  some  little  sen- 
sation did  really  and  naturally  attend  my  coming,  for  most 
of  the  draperies  belonging  to  beds,  curtains,  &c.,  had 
been  sewed  by  the  young  women  of  that  or  the  adjoining 
vales,  Tbis  had  caused  me  to  be  talked  of.  Many  had 
seen  me  on  my  visit  to  the  VVordsworths.  Miss  Words- 
worth had  introduced  the  curious  to  a  knowledge  of  my 
age,  name,  prospects,  and  all  the  rest  of  what  can  be  inter- 
esting to  know.  Even  the  old  people  of  the  vale  were  a 
little  excited. by  the  accounts  (somewhat  exaggerated,  per- 
haps) of  the  never  ending  books  that  continued  to  arrive  in 
packing-cases  for  several  months  in  succession.  Nothing 
in  these  vales  so  much  fixes  the  attention  and  respect  of 
the  people  as  the  reputation  of  being  a  '  far  learnM '  man. 
So  far,  therefore,  1  had  already  bespoke  the  favorable 
opinion  of  the  Dalesmen.  And  a  separate  kind  of  interest 
arose  amongst  mothers  and  daughters,  in  the  knowledge 
that  I  should  necessarily  want  what  —  in  a  sense  somewhat 
different  from  the  general  one  —  is  called  a  '  housekeeper;' 
that  is,  not  an  upper  servant  to  superintend  others,  but  one 
who  could  undertake,  in  her  own  person,  all  the  duties  of 
the  house.  It  is  not  discreditable  to  these  worthy  people 
that  several  of  the  richest  and  most  respectable  families 
were  anxious  to  secure  the  place  for  a  daughter.  Had  I 
been  a  dissipated  young  man,  1  have  good  reason  to  know 
that  there  would  have  been  no  canvassing  at  all  for  the 
situation.  But  partly  my  books  spoke  for  the  character  of 
my  pursuits  with  these  simple-minded  people  —  partly  the 
introduction  of  the  Wordsvvorths  guaranteed  the  safety  of 
such  a  service.  Even  then,  had  I  persisted  in  my  original 
intention  of  bringing  a  man-servant,  no  respectable  young 
woman  would  have  accepted  the  place.  As  it  was,  and  it 
being  understood  that  I  had  renounced  this  intention,  many, 


126  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

in  a  gentle,  diffident  way,  applied  for  the  place,  or  their 
parents  on  their  behalf.     And  1  mention  the  fact,  because 
it  illustrates  one  feature  in  the  manners  of  this  primitive 
and    peculiar    people,    the    Dalesmen    of    Westmoreland. 
However  wealthy,  they  do  not  think  it  degrading  to  permit 
even  the  eldest  daughter  to  go  out  a  few  years  to  service. 
The  object  is  not  to  gain  a  sum  of  money  in  wages,  but 
that  sort  of  household  experience  which  is  supposed  to  be 
unattainable   upon  a  suitable  scale  out  of  a  gentleman's 
family.     So  far  was  this  carried,  that,  amongst  the  offers 
made  to  myself,  was  one   from   a  young  woman  whose 
family  was  amongst  the  very  oldest  in  the  country,  and  who 
was  at  that  time  under  an  cn2:agement  of  marriage  to  the 
very  richest  young  man  in  the  vale.     She  and  her  future 
husband  had  a  reasonable  prospect  of  possessing  ten  thou- 
sand pounds  in  land  ;  and  yet  neither  her  own  family  nor 
lier  husband's  objected  to  her  seeking  such  a  place  as  I 
could  offer.     Her  character  and  manners,  I  ought  to  add, 
were  so  truly  excellent,  and  won  respect  so  inevitably  from 
everybody,  that  nobody   could  wonder  at  the  honorable 
confidence  reposed  in  her  by  her  manly  and  spirited  young 
lover.     The  issue  of  the  matter,  as  respected  my  service, 
was,  why   I  do  not  know,  that  Miss   VVordsworth  did   not 
accept  of  her;  and   she  fulfilled  her  purpose   in  another 
fartiily,  a  very  grave  and  respectable  one,  in  Kendal.     She 
staved  about  a  couple  of  year's,  returned,  and  married   the 
young  man  to  whom  she  had  engaged  herself,  and  is  now 
the   prosperous  mother  of  a  fine  hand.jome   family  ;  and 
she  together  with  her  mother-in-law,  are  the  two  leadinst 
matrons  of  the  vale. 

It  was  on  a  November  night,  about  ten  o'clock,  that  1 
first  found  myself  installed  in  a  house  of  my  own — this 
cottage,  so  memorable  from  its  past  tenant  to  all  men,  S(3 
memorable  to  myself  from  all  which  has  since  past  in  con- 


SOCIETY    OF    THE    LAKES.  127 

ncction  with  it.  A  writer  in  The  Qitarlcrhj  Eeview,  in 
noticing  the  autobiography  of  Dr.  Watson,  the  Bishop  of 
Llandalf,  has  thought  fit  to  say  lliat  tlic  lakes,  of  course, 
afforded  no  society  capable  of  appreciating  this  common- 
pUice,  coarse-minded  man  of  talents.  The  person  who 
said  this  I  understand  to  have  been  Dr.  Whittakcr,  the  re- 
spectable antiquary.  Now,  that  the  reader  may  judge  of 
the  propriety  witli  which  this  was  asserted,  I  sliall  slightly 
rehearse  the  muster-roll  of  our  lake  society,  as  it  existed  at 
the  time  when  I  seated  myself  in  my  Grasmere  cottage. 
I  will  undertake  to  say,  that  the  meanest  person  in  the 
whole  scattered  community  was  more  extensively  accom- 
plished than  the  good  bishop,  was  more  conscientiously  true 
to  his  duties,  and  had  more  varied  powers  of  conversation. 
Wordsworth  and  Coleridge,  then  living  at  Allan  Bank,  in 
Grasmere,  I  will  not  notice  in  such  a  question.  Southey, 
living  thirteen  miles  off,  at  Keswick,  I  have  already  noticed  ; 
and  he  needs  no  proneur.  I  will  begin  with  Windermere. 
At  Clappersgate,  a  little  hamlet  of  perhaps  six  houses,  on 
its  north-wfcst  angle,  and  about  five  miles  from  my  cottage, 
resided  two  Scottish  ladies,  daughters  of  Dr.  C\illen,  the 
famous  physician  and  nosologist.  They  were  universally 
beloved  for  their  truly  kind  dispositions,  and  the  firm  inde- 
pendence of  their  conduct.  They  had  been  reduced  from 
great  affluence  to  a  condition  of  rigorous  poverty.  Their 
father  had  made  what  should  have  been  a  fortune  by  his 
practice.  The  good  doctor,  however,  was  careless  of  his 
money  in  proportion  to  the  facility  with  which  he  made  it. 
All  was  put  into  a  box,  open  to  the  whole  family.  Breach 
of  confidence,  in  the  most  thoughtless  use  of  this  money, 
there  could  be  none  ;  because  no  restraint  in  that  point, 
beyond  what  honor  and  good  sense  imposed,  was  laid  upon 
any  of  the  elder  children.  Under  such  regulations,  it  may 
be  imagined  that  Dr.  CuUen  would  not  accumulate  any 


128  LITERARY     REMINISCENCES. 

very  large  capital ;  and,  at  his  death,  the  family,  for  the 
first  time,  found  themselves  in  embarrassed  circumstances. 
Of  the  two  daughters  who  bejonged  to  our  lake  population, 
one  had  married  a  Mr.  Millar,  son  to  the  celebrated  pro- 
fessor Millar  .of  Glasgow.  This  gentleman  had  died  in 
America  ;  and  Mcs.  Millar  was  now  a  childless  widow. 
The  other  still  remained  unmarried.  Both  were  equally 
independent ;  and  independent  even  w!th  regard  to  their 
nearest  relatives  ;  for,  even  from  their  brother  —  who  had 
risen  to  rank  and  affluence  as  a  Scottish  judge,  under 
the  title  of  Lord  Cullen  —  they  declined  to  receive  assist- 
ance ;  and  except  for  some  small  addition  made  to  their 
income  by  a  novel  called  '  Home,'  [in  as  many  as  seven 
volumes,  I  really  believe,]  by  Miss  Cullen,  their  expenditure 
was  rigorously  shaped  to  meet  that  very  slender  income, 
which  they  drew  from  their  shares  of  the  patrimonial 
wrecks.  More  honorable  and  modest  independence,  or 
poverty  more  gracefully  supported,  I  have  rarely  known. 
Meantime,  these  ladies,  though  literary  and  veiy  agree- 
able in  conversation,  could  not  be  classed  with  what  now 
began  to  be  known  as  the  lake  community  of  literati ;  for 
they  took  no  interest  in  any  one  of  the  lake  poets;  did  not 
affect  to  take  any  ;  and  I  am  sure  they  were  not  aware  of 
so  much  value  in  any  one  thing  these  poets  had  written,  as 
could  make  it  worth  while  even  to  look  into  their  books  ; 
and  accordingly  as  well-bred  women,  they  took  the  same 
course  as  was  pursued  for  several  years  by  Mrs.  Flannah 
More,  viz.,  cautiously  to  avoid  mentioning  their  names  in 
my  presence.  This  was  natural  enough  in  women  who 
had  probably  built  their  early  admiration  upon  French 
models,  (for  Mrs.  Millar  used  to  tell  me  that  she  regarded 
the  '  Mahomet'  of  Voltaire  as  the  most  perfect  of  liuman 
cotnpositions,)  and  still  more  so  at  a  period  when  almost 
all   the  world  had  surrendered  their  opinions   and   their 


SOCIETY    OF    THE    LAKES.  129 

literary  consciences  (so  to  speak)  into  the  keeping  of  The 
Edinhurgh  Rcvicio ;  in  whose  favor,  besides,  those  ladies 
had  the  pardonable  prepossessions  of  national  pride,  as  a 
collateral  guarantee  of  that  implicit  faith,  which,  in  those 
days,  stronger-minded  people  than  they  took  a  pride  in 
professing.  Still,  in  defiance  of  prejudices  mustering  so 
strongly  to  support  their  blindness,  and  the  still  stronger 
support  which  this  blindness  drew  from  their  total  igno- 
rance of  everything  either  done  or  attempted  by  the  lake 
poets,  these  amiable  women  persisted  in  one  uniform  tone 
of  courteous  forbearance,  as  often  as  any  question  arose  to 
implicate  the  names  either  of  Wordsworth  or  Coleridge  \, 
any  question  about  them,  their  books,  their  families,  or 
anything  that  was  theirs.  They  thought  it  strange,  indeed, 
(for  so  much  I  heard  by  a  circuitous  course,)  that  promis- 
ing and  intellectual  young  men  —  men  educated  at  great 
universities,  such  as  Mr.  Wilson  of  Elleray,  or  myself,  or 
a  few  others  who  had  paid  us  visits,  —  should  possess  so 
deep  a  veneration  for  these  writers  ;  but  evidently  this  was 
an  infatuation  —  a  craze,  originating,  perhaps,  in  personal 
connections;  and,  as  the  craze  of  valued  friends,  to  be 
treated  with  tenderness.  For  us  therefore  —  for  our  sakes 
—  they  took  a  religious  care  to  suppress  all  allusion  to 
these  disreputable  names  ;  and  it  is  pretty  plain  how  sincere 
their  indifference  must  have  been  with  regard  to  these 
neighboring  authors,  from  the  evidence  of  one  fact,  viz., 
that  when,  in  18 IQ,  Mr.  Coleridge  began  to  issue,  in  weekly 
numbers,  his  Friend,  which,  by  the  prospectus,  held  forth 
a  promise  of  meeting  all  possible  tastes — literary,  philoso- 
phic, pfjlitical  —  even  this  comprehensive  field  of  interest, 
combined  with  the  adventitious  attraction  (so  very  unusual, 
and  so  little  to  have  been  looked  for  in  that  thinly-peopled 
region)  of  a  local  origin,  from  the  bosom  of  those  very 
hills,  at  the  foot  of  which  (though  on  a  different  side),  they 

VOL.   II.  9 


130  LITERARY     REMINISCENCES. 

were  themselves  living,  failed  altogether  to  stimulate  their 
torpid  curiosity;  so  perfect  was  their  persuasion  before- 
hand, that  no  good  thing  could  by  possibility  come  out  of 
a  community  that  had  fallen  under  the  ban  of  the  Edin- 
burgh critics. 

At  the  same  time,  it  is  melancholy  to  confess  that,  partly 
from  the  dejection  of  Coleridge  ;  his  constant  immersion 
in  opium  at  that  period  ;  his  hatred  of  the  duties  he  had 
assumed,  or  at  least  of  their  too  frequent  and  periodical 
recurrence;  and  partly  also  from  the  bad  selection  of  topics 
for  a  miscellaneous  audience  ;  from  the  heaviness  and  ob- 
scurity with  which  they  were  treated  ;  and  from  the  total 
want  of  variety ;  in  consequence  of  defective  arrangements 
on  his  part  for  ensuring  the  co-operation  of  his  friends  ; 
no  conceivable  act  of  authorship  that  Coleridge  could  have 
perpetrated,  no  possible  overt  act  of  dulness  and  somnolent 
darkness  that  he  could  have  authorized,  was  so  well  fitted 
to  sustain  the  impression,  with  regard  to  him  and  his  friends, 
that  had  pre-occupied  these  ladies'  minds.  Hales  conjilen- 
tern  reum  !  I  am  sure  they  would  exclaim  ;  not  perhaps 
confessing  to  that  form  of  delinquency  which  they  had  been 
taught  to  expect  —  trivial  or  extravagant  sentimentalism  ; 
Germanity  alternating  with  tumid  inanity ;  not  this,  but 
something  quite  as  bad  or  worse,  viz.,  palpable  dulness  — 
dulness  that  could  be  felt  and  handled  —  rayless  obscurity 
as  to  the  thoughts  —  and  communicated  in  language  that, 
according  to  the  Bishop  of  LlandafPs  complaint,  was  not 
always  English.  For,  though  the  particular  words  cited 
for  blame  were  certainly  known  to  the  vocabulary  of  meta- 
physics, and  had  even  been  employed  by  a  writer  of  Queen 
Anne's  reign,  (Leibnitz,)  who,  if  any,  had  the  gift  of 
translating  dark  thoughts  into  plain  ones  —  still  it  was 
intolerable,  in  point  of  good  sense,  that  one  who  had  to 
win  hh  way  into  the  public  ear,  should  begin  by  bringing, 


SOCIETY    OF    THE    LAKES.  131 

before  a  popular  and  miscellaneous  aud'ence,  themes  that 
could  require  such  startling  and  revolting  words.  The 
Delphic  Oracle  was  the  kindest  of  the  nicknames  which 
the  literary  taste  of  Windermere  conferred  upon  the  new 
journal.  This  was  the  laughing  suggestion  of  a  clever 
young  lady,  a  daughter  of  the  Bishop  of  Llandaff,  who 
stood  in  a  neutral  position  with  regard  to  Coleridge.  But 
others  there  were  amongst  his  supposed  friends,  who  felt 
even  more  keenly  than  this  young  lady,  the  shocking 
want  of  adaptation  to  his  audience  in  the  choice  of  matter; 
and,  even  to  an  audience  better  qualified  to  meet  such 
matter,  the  want  of  adaptation  in  the  mode  of  publication, 
viz.,  periodically,  and  by  weekly  recurrence  ;  a  mode  of 
soliciting  the  public  attention  which  even  authorizes  the 
expectation  of  current  topics  —  topics  arising  each  with 
its  own  week  or  day.  One  in  particular  I  remember,  of 
these  disapproving  friends  ;  a  Mr.  Blair,  an  accomplished 
scholar,  and  a  frequent  visiter  at  Elleray,  who  started  the 
playful  scheme  of  a  satirical  rejoinder  to  Colerido-e's 
Friend,  under  the  name  of  The  Enemy,  which  was  to 
follow  always  in  the  wake  of  its  leader,  and  to  stimulate 
Coleridge,  [at  the  same  time  that  it  amused  the  public,]  by 
attic  banter,  or  by  downright  opposition,  and  showing  fiwht 
in  good  earnest.  It  was  a  plan  that  might  have  done  good 
service  to  the  world,  and  chiefly  through  a  seasonable 
irritation  (never  so  much  wanted  as  then)  applied  to 
Coleridge's  too  lethargic  state:  in  fact,  throughout  life,  it 
is  most  deeply  to  be  regretted  that  Coleridge's  powers  and 
peculiar  learning  were  never  forced  out  into  a  large  display 
by  intense  and  almost  persecuting  opposition.  However, 
this  scheme,  like  thousands  of  other  day-dreams  and 
bubbles  that  rose  upon  the  breath  of  morning  spirits  and 
buoyant  youth,  fell  to  the  ground  ;  and,  in  the  meantime, 
no  enemy  to   The  Friend   appeared  that  was  capable  of 


132  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

matching  The  Friend  when  left  to  itself  and  its  own  care- 
less  or  vagrant  guidance.  The  Friend  ploughed  heavily 
along  for  nine-and-twenty  numbers;  and  our  fair  recusants 
and  non-conformists  in  all  that  regarded  the  lake  poetry 
or  authorship,  the  two  Scottish  ladies  of  Clappersgate, 
found  no  reasons  for  changing  their  opinions ;  but  con- 
tinued, for  the  rest  of  my  acquaintance  with  them,  to 
practise  the  same  courteous  and  indulgent  silence,  when- 
ever the  names  of  Coleridge  or  Wordsworth  happened  to 
be  mentioned.  . 

In  taking  leave  of  these  Scottish  ladies,  it  may  be  in- 
teresting to  mention  that,  previously  to  their  final  farewell 
lo  our  lake  society,  upon  taking  up  their  permanent 
residence  in  York,  (which  step  they  adopted  —  partly,  I 
believe,  to  enjoy  the  more  diversified  society  which  that 
great  city  yields,  and,  at  any  rate,  the  more  accessible 
society  than  amongst  mountain  districts — partly  with  a 
view  to  the  cheapness  of  that  rich  district  in  comparison 
with  our  stei'ile  soil,  poor  towns,  and  poor  agriculture,) 
somewhere  about  the  May  or  June  of  1810,  I  think  —  they 
were  able,  by  a  long  preparatory  course  of  economy,  to 
invite  to  the  English  lakes  a  family  of  foreigners  —  what 
shall  I  call  them  }  —  a  family  of  Anglo-Gallo-Americans, 
from  the  Carolinas.  The  invitation  had  been  of  old 
standing,  and  offered,  as  an  expression  of  gratitude,  from 
these  ladies,  for  many  hospitalities  and  friendly  services 
rendered  by  the  two  heads  of  that  family  to  Mrs.  Millar, 
in  former  years,  and  under  circumstances  of  peculiar 
trial.  Mrs.  Millar  had  been  hastily  summoned  from  Scot- 
land to  attend  her  husband  at  Charleston  ;  him,  on  her 
arrival,  she  found  dying  ;  and,  whilst  overwhelmed  by 
this  sudden  blow,  it  may  be  imagined  that  the  young 
widow  would  find  trials  enough  for  her  fortitude,  without 
needing  any  addition  to  the  load,  from  friepdlincss  amongst 


SOCIETY    OF    THE    LAKES.  133 

a  nation  of  stranccers,  and  from  total  solitude.  These  evils 
were  spared  to  Mrs.  Millar,  through  the  kind  ofTices  and 
disinterested  exertions  of  an  American  gentleman,  (French 
by  birth,  but  American  by  adoption,)  M.  Simond,  who 
took  upon  himself  the  cares  of  superintending  Mr.  Millar's 
funeral  through  all  its  details;  and,  by  this  most  season- 
able service,  secured  to  the  heai't-stricken  widow  that  most 
welcome  of  privileges  in  all  situations,  the  privilege  of 
unmolested  privacy :  for  assuredly  the  heaviest  aggrava- 
tion of  such  bereavements  lies  in  the  necessity,  too  often 
imposed  by  circumstances,  upon  him  or  upon  her,  who 
may  happen  to  be  the  sole  responsible  representative, 
and,  at  the  same  time,  the  dearest  friend  of  the  deceased, 
of  superintending  the  funeral  arrangements.  In  the  very 
agonies  of  a  new-born  grief,  whilst  the  heart  is  yet  raw 
and  bleeding,  the  mind  not  yet  able  to  comprehend  its 
loss,  the  very  light  of  day  hateful  to  the  eyes ;  the  neces- 
sity, even  at  such  a  moment  arises,  and  without  a  day's 
delay,  and  of  facing  strangers,  talking  with  strangers, 
discussing  the  most  empty  details,  with  a  view  to  the  most 
sordid  of  considerations  —  cheapness,  convenience,  custom, 
and  local  prejudice;  and,  finally,  talking  about  whom? 
why,  the  very  child,  husband,  wife,  who  has  just  been 
torn  away ;  and  this,  too,  under  a  consciousness  that  the 
being  so  hallowed  is,  as  to  these  strangers,  an  object 
equally  indifferent  w'ith  any  one  person  whatsoever  that 
died  a  thousand  years  ago.  Fortunate,  indeed,  is  that 
person  who  has  a  natural  friend,  or,  in  default  of  such  a 
friend,  who  finds  a  volunteer  stepping  forward  to  relieve 
him  from  a  conflict  of  feeling  so  peculiarly  unseasonable. 
Mrs.  Millar  never  forgot  the  service  which  had  been  ren- 
dered to  her;  and  she  was  happy  when  M.  Simond,  who 
had  become  a  wealthy  citizen  of  America,  at  length  held 
out  the  prospect  of  coming  to  profit   by  her  hospitable 


134  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

attentions,  amongst  that  circle  of  friends  with  whom  she 
and  her  sister  had  surrounded  themselves  in  so  interesting 
a  part  of  England. 

M.  Simond  had  been  a  French  emigrant ;  not,  T  believe, 
so  far  connected  with  the  privileged  orders  of  his  country, 
or  with  any  political  party,  as  to  be  absolutely  forced  out 
of  France  by  danger  or  by  panic  ;  but  he  had  shared  in 
the  feelings  of  those  who  were.  Revolutionary  France, 
in  the  anarchy  of  the  transition  state,  and  still  heaving  to 
and  fro  with  the  subsiding  shocks  of  the  great  earthquake, 
did  not  suit  him  :  there  was  neither  the  polish  which  he 
sought  in  its  manners,  nor  the  security  which  he  sought 
in  its  institutions.  England  he  did  not  love  ;  but  yet,  if 
not  England,  some  country  which  had  grown  up  from 
English  foundations  was  the  country  for  him  ;  and,  as  he 
augured  no  rest  for  France,  through  some  generations  to 
come,  but  an  endless  succession  of  revolution  to  revolu- 
tion, anarchy  to  anarchy,  he  judged  it  best  that,  having 
expatriated  himself  and  lost  one  country,  he  should 
solemnly  adopt  another.  Accordingly,  he  became  an 
American  citizen.  English  he  already  spoke  with  pro- 
priety and  fluency.  And,  finally,  he  cemented  his  English 
connections  by  marrying  an  English  lady,  the  niece  of 
John  Wilkes.  'What  John  Wilkes?'  asked  a  lady,  one 
of  a  dinner-party  at  Calgarth,  (the  house  of  Dr.  Watson, 
the  celebrated  Bishop  of  Llandaff,)  upon  the  banks  of 
Windermere.  —  '  What  John  Wilkes  ?  '  re-echoed  the 
Bishop,  with  a  vehement  intonation  of  scorn ;  '  What 
John  Wilkes,  indeed  !  as  if  there  ever  was  more  than  one 
John  Wilkes  — fama  super  ccLhera  notos  !  '  — '  O,  my 
Lord,  I  beg  your  pardon,'  said  an  old  lady,  nearly  con- 
nected with  the  Bishop,  '  there  were  two  ;  1  knew  one  of 
them  :  he  was  a  little,  ill-looking  man,  and  he  kept  the 
Blue  Boar  at .'  — '  At  Flamborough  Head  ! '  roared 


SOCIETY    OF    THE    LAKES.  135 

the  Bishop,  with  a  savage  expression  of  disgust.  The 
old  lady,  suspecting  that  some  screw  was  loose  in  the 
matter,  thought  it  prudent  to  drop  the  contest;  but  she 
murmured,  sotto  voce,  '  No,  not  at  Flamborough  Head, 
but  at  Market  Drayton.'  Madame  Simond,  then,  was  the 
niece,  not  of  the  ill-looking  host  of  the  Blue  Boar,  but  of 
tJie  Wilkes,  so  memorably  connected  with  the  parvanimi- 
ties  of  the  English  government  at  one  period  ;  with  the 
casuistry  of  our  English  constitution,  by  the  questions 
raised  in  his  person  as  to  the  effects  of  expulsion  from 
the  House  of  Commons,  &c.  &c. ;  and,  finally,  witli  the 
history  of  English  jurisprudence,  by  his  intrepidity  on 
the  matter  of  general  warrants.  M.  Simond's  party,  when 
at  length  it  arrived,  consisted  of  two  persons  besides  him- 
self, viz.,  his  wife,  the  niece  of  Wilkes,  and  a  young  lady 
of  eighteen,  standing  in  the  relation  of  grand-niece  to 
the  same  memorable  person.  This  young  lady,  highly 
pleasing  in  her  person,  on  quitting  the  lake  district,  went 
northwards,  with  her  party,  to  Edinburgh,  and  there 
became  acquainted  with  Mr.  Francis  Jeffrey,  the  present 
Lord  Jeffrey,  who  naturally  enough  fell  in  love  with  her, 
followed  her  across  the  Atlantic,  and  in  Charleston,  I 
believe,  received  the  honor  of  her  hand  in  marriage. 

I,  as  one  of  Mrs.  Millar's  friends,  put  in  my  claim  to 
entertain  her  American  party  in  my  turn.  One  long 
summer's  day,  they  all  came  over  to  my  cottage  in  Gras- 
mere ;  and  as  it  became  my  duty  to  do  the  honors  of  our 
vale  to  the  strangers,  1  thought  that  I  could  not  discharge 
the  duty  in  a  way  more  likely  to  interest  them  all,  than 
by  conducting  them  through  to  Grasmere  into  the  little 
inner  chamber  of  Easedale  ;  and  there,  within  sight  of 
the  solitary  cottage,  Blentarn  Ghyll,  telling  them  the 
story  of  the  Greens ;  because,  in  this  way,  I  had  an  op- 
portunity, at  the  same  time,  of  showing  the  scenery  from 


136  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

some  of  the  best  points,  and  of  opening  to  them  a  few 
glimpses  of  the  character  and  customs  which  distinguish 
this  section  of  the  English  yeomanry  from  others.  The 
story  did  certainly  interest  them  all  ;  and  thus  far  I  suc- 
ceeded in  my  duties  as  Cicerone  and  Amphytrion  of  the 
day.  Rut  throughout  the  rest  of  our  long  morning's 
ramble,  I  remember  that  accident,  or,  possibly  the  polite- 
ness of  M.  Simond  and  his  French  sympathy  with  a 
young  man's  natural  desire  to  stand  well  in  the  eyes  of  a 
handsome  young  woman,  so  ordered  it,  that  I  had  con- 
stantly the  honor  of  being  Miss  Wilkes'  immediate  com- 
panion, as  the  narrowness  of  the  path  pretty  generally 
threw  us  into  ranks  of  two  and  two.  Having,  therefore, 
through  so  many  hours,  the  opportunity  of  an  exclusive 
conversation  with  this  young  lady,  it  would  have  been 
my  own  fault  had  I  failed  to  carry  off  an  impression  of 
her  great  good  sense,  as  well  as  her  amiable  and  spirited 
character.  Certainly  I  did  mon  possible  to  entertain  her, 
both  on  her  own  account  and  as  the  visiter  of  my  Scottish 
friends.  But,  in  the  midst  of  all  my  efforts,  I  had  the 
mortification  to  feel  that  I  was  rowing  against  the  stream  ; 
that  there  was  a  silent  body  of  prepossession  against  the 
whole  camp  of  the  lakers,  which  nothing  could  unsettle. 
Miss  Wilkes  naturally  looked  up,  with  some  feelings  of 
respect,  to  M.  Simond,  who,  by  his  marriage  with  her 
aunt,  had  become  her  own  guardian  and  protector.  Now, 
M.  Simond,  of  all  the  men  in  the  world,  was  the  last  who 
could  have  appreciated  an  English  poet.  He  had,  to 
begin  with,  a  French  inaptitude  for  apprehending  poetry 
at  all ;  any  poetry,  that  is,  which  transcends  manners  and 
the  interests  of  social  life.  Then,  unfortunately,  not 
merel)'  through  what  he  had  not,  but  equally  through 
what  he  had,  this  cleverish  Frenchman  was,  by  whole 
diameters  of  the  earth,  remote  from  the  station  at  which  he 


SOCIETY  OF  THE  LAKES.  137 

could  comprehend  Wordsworth,  He  was  a  thorough 
knowing  man  of  the  world,  keen,  sharp  as  a  razor,  and 
valuing  nothing  but  the  tangible  and  the  ponderable.  He 
had  a  smattering  of  mechanics,  of  physiology,  geology, 
mineralogy,  and  all  other  ologies  whatsoever;  he  had, 
besides,  at  his  fingers'  ends,  a  huge  body  of  statistical 
facts  —  how  many  people  did  live,  could  live,  ought  to 
live,  in  each  particular  district  of  each  manufacturing 
county ;  how  many  old  women  of  eighty-three  there 
ought  to  be  to  so  many  little  children  of  one  ;  how  many 
murders  ought  to  be  committed  in  a  month  by  each  town 
of  five  thousand  souls  ;  and  so  on  ad  infinitum.  And  to 
such  a  thin  shred  had  his  old  French  politeness  been  worn 
down  by  American  attrition,  that  his  thin  lips  could,  with 
much  ado,  contrive  to  disguise  his  contempt  for  those  who 
failed  to  meet  him  exactly  upon  his  own  field,  with  ex- 
actly his  own  quality  of  knowledge.  Yet,  after  all,  it 
was  but  a  little  case  of  knowledge,  that  he  had  packed  up 
neatly  for  a  make-shift ;  just  what  corresponds  to  the  little 
assortment  of  razors,  tooth-brushes,  nail-brushes,  hair- 
brushes, cork-screw,  gimlet,  &c.  &c.,  which  one  carries 
in  one's  trunk,  in  a  red  Morocco  case,  to  meet  the  casual- 
ties of  a  journey.  The  more  one  was  indignant  at  being 
the  object  of  such  a  man's  contempt,  the  more  heartily 
did  one  disdain  his  disdain,  and  recalcitrate  his  kicks. 

On  the  single  day  which-  Mrs.  Millar  could  spare  for 
Grasmere,  I  had  taken  care  to  ask  Wordsworth  amongst 
those  who  were  to  meet  the  party.  Wordsworth  came ; 
but,  by  instinct,  he  and  Monsieur  Simond  knew  and  re- 
coiled from  each  other.  They  met,  they  saw,  they  inter- 
despised.  Wordsworth,  on  his  side,  seemed  so  heartily 
to  despise  M.  Simond,  that  he  did  not  stir  or  make  an 
effort  to  right  himself  under  any  misapprehension  of  the 
Frenchman,  but  coolly  acquiesced  in  any  and  every  infer- 


138  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

ence   wliich    he    might   be   pleased    to    draw ;   whilst   M. 
Simond,   double-charged  with  contempt  from  The  Edin- 
burgh Rci'ieio,  and   from  the  report  (I  cannot  doubt)  of 
his   present   hostess,   manifestly  thought  Wordsworth  too 
abject  almost  for  the  trouble  of  too  openly  disdaining  him. 
More   than  one  of   us    could    have   done   justice  on   this 
malefactor,  by  meeting  M.  Simond  on  his  own  ground,  and 
taking  the  conceit  out  of  him  most  thoroughly.     I  was  one 
of  those;  for  I  had  the  very  knowledge,  or  some  of  it, 
that  he  most  paraded.     But  one  of  us  was  lazy  ;  another 
thought  it  not  tanti ;  and  I,  for  my  part,  in  my  own  house, 
could  not  move  upon  such  a  service.     And  in  those  days, 
moreover,  when  as  yet  I  loved  Wordsworth  not  less  than  I 
venerated  him,  a  success  that  would  have  made  him  suffer 
in  any  man's  opinion   by  comparison  with   myscilf,  would 
have  been  painful  to  my  feelings.     Never  did  party  meet 
more    exquisitely   ill-assorted ;    never   did   party   separate 
with    more  exquisite  and   cordial  disgust,  in  its  principal 
members,  towards  each  other.     I  mention  the  case  at  all, 
in    order   to    illustrate    the    abject    condition    of    worldly 
opinion  in  which  Wordsworth  then  lived.     Perhaps  his  ill 
fame  was  just  then  in  its  meridian;  for  M.  Simond,  soon 
after,  published   his   English  tour  in  two  octavo  volumes; 
and,  of  course,  he  goes  over  his  residence  at  the  lakes  ; 
yet  it  is  a  strong  fact  that,  according  to  my  remembrance, 
he    does    not   vouchsafe   to   mention   such   a   person   as 
Wordsworth. 

One  anecdote,  before  parting  with  these  ladies,  I  will 
mention  as  received  from  Miss  Cullen  on  her  personal 
knowledge  of  the  fact.  There  are  stories  current  which 
resemble  this;  but  wanting  that  immediate  guarantee  for 
their  accuracy  which,  in  this  case,  I  at  least  was  obliged 
to  admit,  in  the  attestation  of  so  perfectly  veracious  a 
reporter  as  this  excellent  lady.     A  female  friend  of  her 


SOCIETY    OF    THE    LAKES. 


139 


own,  a  person  of  family  and  consideration,  being  on  tho 
eve  of  underUdving  a  visit  to  a  remote  part  of  tlie  kingdom^ 
dreamed  that,  on   reaching  the   end  of  her  journey,  and 
drawing   up   to   the  steps  of  the  door,  a  footman,  with  a 
very   marked   and  forbidding  expression  of  countenance, 
his  complexion  pale  and  bloodless,  and  his  manners  sullen, 
presented   himself  to  let  down   the  steps  of  her  carriage. 
This  same  man,  at  a  subsequent   point  of  her  dream,  ap- 
peared  to  be  stealing  up  a  private  staircase,  with  some 
murderous   instruments  in  bis  hands,  towards  a  bed-room 
door.     This  dream  was   repeated,   I  think,  twice.     Some 
time  after,  the  lady,  accompanied  by  a  grown-up  daughter, 
accomplished   her  journey.     Great  was  the   shock  which 
awaited  her  on  reaching  her  friend's   house  :  a  servant, 
corresponding    in    all    points    to    the    shadowy   outline   of 
her  dream,  equally  bloodless   in   complexion,  and  equally 
gloomy  in  manner,   appeared  at  her  carriage  door.     The 
issue   of   the   story   was  —  that  upon   a   particular    night, 
after  a  stay  of  some  length,  the  lady  grew  unaccountably 
nervous;     resisted    her   feelings  for    some    time;    but    at 
length,  at  the  entreaty  of  her  daughter,  who  slept  in   the 
same   room,  suffered  some  communication  of  the  case  to 
be  made  to  a  gentleman   resident   in   the  house,  who   had 
not  yet  retired  to  rest.     This   gentleman,  struck   by  the 
dream,  and  still  more  on  recalling  to  mind  some  suspicious 
preparations,  as  if  for  a  hasty  departure,  in  which  he  had 
detected   the  servant,  waited   in   concealment  until   three 
o'clock  in  the  morning  —  at  which  time  hearing  a  stealthy 
step  moving  up  the  staircase,  he  issued  with  fire-arms,  and 
met  the  man  at  the  lady's  door,  so  equipped  as  to  leave  no 
doubt  of  his  intentions ;  which  possibly  contemplated  only 
robbing  of  the  lady's  jewels,  but  possibly  also  murder  in  a 
case  of  extremity.     There  are  other  stories  with  some  of 
the  same  circumstances ;  and,  in  particular,  I  remember 


140  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

one  very  like  it  in  Dr.  Abercrombie's  '  Inquiries  Concern- 
ing the  Intellectual  Powers,'  [1830,]  p.  283.  But  in  this 
version  of  Dr.  Abercrombie's,  (supposing  it  another  ver- 
sion of  the  same  story,)  the  striking  circumstance  of 
anticipating  the  servant's  features  is  omitted  ;  and  in  no 
version,  except  this  of  Miss  Cullen's,  have  I  heard  the 
names  mentioned  both  of  the  parties  to  the  affair,  and 
also  of  the  place  at  which  it  occurred. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

CHARLES  LLOYD. 

Immediately  below  the  little  village  of  Clappersgate,  in 
which  the  Scottish  ladies  resided  —  Mrs.  Millar  and  Mrs. 
Cullen  —  runs  the  wild  mountain  river  called  the  Brathay^ 
which,  descending  from  Langdale  head,  and  soon  after 
becoming  confluent  with  the  Rothay,  (a  brook-like  stream 
that  comes  originally  from  Easedale,  and  lakes  its  course 
through  the  two  lakes  of  Grasmere  and  Rydal,)  finally 
composes  a  considerable  body  of  water,  that  flows  along, 
deep,  calm,  and  steady  —  no  longer  brawling,  bubbling, 
tumultuous  —  into  the  splendid  lake  of  Windermere,  the 
largest  of  our  English  waters ;  or,  if  not,  at  least  the 
longest,  and  of  the  most  extensive  circuit.  Close  to  this 
little  river,  Brathay,  on  the  farther  side,  as  regards  Clap- 
persgate, (and  what,  though  actually  part  and  parcel  of  a 
district  that  is  severed  by  the  sea,  or  by  Westmoreland, 
from  Lancashire  proper,  is  yet,  from  some  old  legal  usage, 
denominated  the  Lancashire  side  of  the  Brathay,)  stands 
a  modest  family  mansion,  called  Low  Brathay,  by  way  of 
distinction  from  another  and  a  larger  mansion,  about  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  beyond  it,  which,  standing  upon  a  little 
eminence,  is  called  High  Brathay. 

In  this  house  of  Low  Brathay  lived,  and  continued  to 
live,  for  many  years,  (in  fact,  until  misery,  in  its  sharpest 


142  LITEKARY    REMINISCENCES. 

form,  drove  him  from  his  licarlh  and  his  household  hap» 

piqess,)    Charles    L ,    the    younger ;  —  on    his    own 

account,  and  for  his  personal  qualities,  worthy  of  a  sepa- 
rate notice  in  any  biography,  howsoever  sparing  in  its 
digressions  ;  but,  viewed  in  reference  to  his  fortunes, 
amongst  the  most  interesting  men  I  have  known.  Never 
do  I  reflect  upon  his  hard  fate,  and  the  bitter  though 
mysterious  persecution  of  body  which  pursued  him, 
dogged  him,  and  thickened  as  life  advanced,  but  I  feel 
gratitude  to  Heaven  for  my  own  exemption  from  suffering 
in  tliat  particular  form  ;  and,  in  the  midst  of  afflictions, 
of  which  two  or  three  have  been  most  hard  to  bear, 
because  not  unmingled  with  pangs  of  remorse  for  the 
share  which  I  myself  may  have  had  in  causing  them  — 

still,  by  comparison    with    the    lot   of  Charles    L ,  I 

acknowledge  my  own  to  have  been  happy  and  serene. 
Ah'eady,  on  my  first  hasty  visit  to  Grasmere  in   1807,  I 

found  Charles  L settled  with  his  family  at  Brathay, 

and  a  resident  there,  I  believe,  of  some  standing.  It  was 
on  a  wet  gloomy  evening ;  and  Miss  Wordsworth  and  I 
were  returning  from  an  excursion  to  Esthwaite  AVater, 
when,  suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  blinding  rain,  without 
previous  notice,  she  said  —  Pray,  let  us  call  for  a  few 
minutes  at  this  house.  A  garden  gate  led  us  into  a  little 
shrubbery,  chiefly  composed  of  lawns  beautifully  kept, 
through  which  ran  a  gravel  road,  just  wide  enough  to 
admit  a  single  carriage.  A  minute  or  so  saw  us  housed 
in  a  small  comfortable  drawing-room,  but  with  no  signs  of 
liviniT  creatures  near  it;  and,  from  the  accident  of  double 
doors,  all  covered  with  baize,  being  scattered  about  the 
house,  the  whole  mansion  seemed  the  palace  of  silence, 
though  populous,  I  understood,  with  childi'en.     In  no  long 

time  appeared  Mr.  L ;  soon  followed  by  his  youthful 

wife,  both  radiant  with  kindness ;  and  it  may  be  sujjposed 


CHARLES    LLOYD.  143 

that  we  were  not  suffered  to  depart  for  some  liours.  I 
call  Mrs.  L youthful  ;  and  so  I  might  call  her  hus- 
band ;  for  both  were  youthful,  considered  as  the  parents  of 
a  numerous  family,  six  or  seven  children  then  living  — 

Charles   L himself   not    being   certainly    more    than 

twenty-seven,  and  his  '  Sophia '  perhaps  not  tvvcnty- 
five. 

On  that  short  visit  I  saw  enough  to  interest  me  in  both ; 
and  two  years  after,  when  I  became  myself  a  permanent 
resident  in  Grasmere,  the  connection  between  us  became 
close  and  intimate.  My  cottage  stood  just  five  miles 
from  Brathay  ;  and  there  were  two  mountain  roads  which 
shortened  the  space  between  us,  though  not  the  time  nor 
the  toil.  But,  notwithstanding  this  distance,  often  and 
often,  upon  the  darkest  nights,  for  many  years,  I  used  to 
go  over  about  nine  o'clock,  or  an  hour  later,  and  sit  with 

him  till  one.     Mrs.  L was  simply  an  amiable  young 

woman,  of  pleasing  person,  perfectly  well  principled,  and, 
as  a  wife  and  mother,  not  surpassed  by  anybody  I  have 
known  in  either  of  those  characters.  In  'fisi-ire  she  some- 
what  resembled  the  ever  memorable  and  most  excellent 
]\Irs.  Jordan:  she  was  exactly  of  the  middle  heiglit,  and 
having  that  slight  degree  of  cmhonpoint,  even  in  youth, 
which  never  through  life  diminishes  or  increases.  Her 
complexion  may  be  imagined,  from  the  circumstances  of 
her  hair  being  tinged  witli  a  slight  and  not  unpleasing 
shade  of  red.  Finally,  in  manners,  she  was  remarkably 
self-possessed,  free  from  all  awkard  embarrassment,  and 
(to  an  extent  which  some  people  would  wonder  at  in  one 
who  had  been  brought  up,  1  believe,  wholly  in  a  great 
commercial  town)  perfectly  lady-like.  So  much  descrip- 
tion is  due  to  one,  who,  though  no  authoress,  and  never 
making  the  slightest  pretension  to  talents,  was  too  much 
connected  subsequently  with  the  lakers  to  be  passed  over 


144  '"literary  reminiscences. 

in  a  review  of  their  community.  Ah  !  gentle  lady  !  your 
head,  after  struggling  through  many  a  year  with  strange 
calamities,  has  found  rest  at  length  ;  but  not  in  English 
ground,  or  amongst  the  mountains  which  you  loved  :  at 
Versailles  it  is,  and  perhaps  within  a  stone's  throw  of  that 
Mrs.  Jordan  whom  in  so  many  things  you  resembled,  and 
most  of  all  in  the  misery  which  settled  upon  your  latter 
years.  There  you  lie,  and  for  ever,  whose  blooming 
matronly  figure  rises  up  to  me  at  this  moment  from  a 
depth  of  thirty  years  !  and  your  children  scattered  into  all 
lands. 

But  for  Charles  L ,  he,  by  his  literary  worlcs,  is  so 

far  known  to  the  public,  that,  on  his  own  account,  he 
merits  some  separate  notice.  His  poems  do  not  place 
him  in  the  class  of  powerful  poets  ;  they  are  loosely 
conceived  —  faultily  even  at  times  —  and  not  finished  in 
the  execution.  But  they  have  a  real  and  a  mournful 
merit  under  one  aspect,  which  might  be  so  presented  to 
the  general  reader  as  to  win  a  peculiar  interest  for  many 
of  them,  and  for  some  a  permanent  place  in  any  judicious 
thesaurus  —  such  as  we  may  some  day  hope  to  see  drawn 
ofi",  and  carefully  filtered,  from  the  enormous  mass  of 
poetry  produced  since  the  awakening  era  of  the  French 
Revolution.  This  aspect  is  founded  on  the  relation  which 
they  bear  to  the  real  events  and  the  unexaggerated  afflic- 
tions of  his  own  life.  The  feelings  which  he  attempts  to 
express  were  not  assumed  for  effect,  nor  drawn  by  sug- 
gestion from  others,  and  then  transplanted  into  some  ideal 
experience  of  his  own.  They  do  not  belong  to  the  mimetic 
poetry  so  extensively  cultivated,  but  they  were  true  solitary 
sighs,  wrung  from  his  own  meditative  heart  by  excess  of 
suffering,  and  by  the  yearning  after  old  scenes  and  house- 
hold faces  of  an  impassioned  memory,  brooding  over 
vanished    happiness,  and  cleaving  to   those   early  times 


CHARLES    LLOYD.  145 

when  life  wore  even  for  his  eyes  the  golden  light  of 
Paradise.  But  he  had  other  and  higher  accomplishments 
of  inlcllect  than  he  showed  in  his  verses,  as  I  shall  pres- 
ently explain  ;  and  of  a  nature  which  make  it  diflicult 
to  bring  them  adequately  within  the  reader's  apprehen- 
sion. 

Meantime,  I  will    sketch  an   outline  of  poor  L 's 

history,  so  far  as  I  can  pretend  to  know  it.  He  was  the 
son,  and  probably  his  calamitous  life  originally  dated 
from  his  being  the  son,  of  Quaker  parents.  It  was  said, 
indeed,  by  himself  as  well  as  others,  that  the  mysterious 
malady  which  haunted  him,  had  been  derived  from  an 
ancestress  in  the  maternal  line ;  and  this  may  have  been 
true;  and,  for  all  that,  it  may  also  be  true  that  Quaker 
habits  were  originally  answerable  for  this  legacy  of  wo. 
It  is  sufHciently  well  known  that,  in  the  training  of  their 
young  people,  the  Society  of  Friends  make  it  a  point  of 
conscience  to  apply  severe  checks  to  all  open  manifesta- 
tions of  natural  feeling,  or  of  exuberant  spirits.  Not  the 
passions  —  they  are  beyond  their  control  —  but  the  ex- 
pression of  those  passions  by  any  natural  language ;  this 
they  lay  under  the  heaviest  restraint ;  and,  in  many  cases, 
it  is  possible  that  such  a  system  of  thwarting  nature  may 
do  no  great  mischief;  just  as  we  see  the  American 
Indians,  in  moulding  the  plastic  skulls  of  their  infants 
into  capricious  shapes,  do  not,  after  all,  much  disturb  the 
ordinary  course  of  nature,  nor  produce  the  idiots  we  might 
have  expected.  But,  then,  the  reason  why  such  tampering 
may  often  terminate  in  slight  results  is,  because  often  there 
is  not  much  to  tamper  with ;  the  machinery  is  so  slight, 
and  the  total  range  within  which  it  plays  is  perhaps  so 
narrow,  that  the  difference  between  its  normal  action  and 
its  widest  deviation  may,  after  all,  be  practically  unim- 
portant.    For  there  are  many  men  and  women  of  whom 

VOL.  II.  10 


146  LITERAEY     REMINISCENCES. 

I  have  already  said,  borrowing  the  model  of  the  word 
from  Hartley,  that  they  have  not  so  much  passions  as 
passiundes.  These,  however,  are  in  one  extreme  ;  and 
others  there  are  and  will  be,  in  every  class,  and  under 
every  disadvantage,  who  are  destined  to  illustrate  the  very 
opposite  extreme.  Great  passions  —  passions  pointing  to 
the  paths  of  love,  of  ambition,  of  glory,  martial  or  literary 
—  these  in  men  —  and  in  women,  again,  these,  either  in 
some  direct  shape,  or  taking  the  form  of  intense  sympathy 
with  the  same  passions  as  moving  amongst  contemporary 
men  —  loill  gleam  out  fitfully  amongst  the  placid  children 
of  Fox  and  Penn,  not  less  than  amongst  us  who  profess 
no  war  with  the  nobler  impulses  of  our  nature.  And,  per- 
haps, according  to  the  Grecian  doctrine  of  anliperislasis., 
strong  untameable  passions  are  more  likely  to  arise,  even 
in  consequence  of  the  counteraction.  Deep  passions  un- 
doubtedly lie  in  the  blood  and  constitution  of  Englishmen  ; 
and  Quakers,*  after  all,  do  not,  by  being  such,  cease, 
therefore,  to  be  Englishmen. 

It  is,  I  have  said,  sufficiently  well  known  that  the 
Quakers  make  it  a  point  of  their  moral  economy  to  lay 
the  severest  restraints  upon  all  ebullitions  of  feeling. 
Whatever  may  be  the  nature  of  the  feeling,  whatever  its 
strength,  utter  itself  by  word  or  by  gesture  it  must  not ; 
smoulder  it  may,  but  it  must  not  break  into  a  flame.  This 
is  known  ;  but  it  is  not  equally  known  that  this  unnatural 
restraint,  falling  into  collision  with  two  forces  at  once,  the 

*  In  using  Ibe  term  Quakers,  I  hoped  it  would  have  been  understood, 
even  without  any  explanation  from  myself,  that  I  did  not  mean  to  use  it 
scornfully  or  insultingly  to  that  respectable  body.  But  it  was  the  great 
oversight  of  their  founders  not  to  have  saved  them  from  a  nickname,  by 
assuming  some  formal  designation  expressive  of  some  capital  character- 
istic. At  present  one  is  in  this  dilemma  ;  either  one  must  use  a  tedious 
periphrasis,  {e.  g.^lhc  young  women  of  the  Society  of  Friends,)  or  the 
ambiguous  one  of  young  female  Friends. 


CHARLES     LLOYD,  147 

force  of  passion  and  of  youth,  not  uncommonly  records 
its  own  injurious  tendencies,  and  publislics  the  rebellious 
movements  of  nature,  by  distinct  and  anomalous  diseases. 
And  further,  I  have  been  assured,  upon  most  excellent 
authority,  that  these  diseases,  strange  and  elaborate  affec- 
tions of  the  nervous  system,  are  found  exclusively  amongst 
the  young  men  and  women  of  the  Quaker  society  ;  that 
they  are  known  and  understood  exclusively  amongst 
physicians  who  have  practised  in  great  towns  having  a 
large  Quaker  population,  such  as  Birmingham  ;  that  they 
assume  a  new  type,  and  a  more  inveterate  character,  in 
the  second  or  third  generation,  to  whom  this  fatal  inherit- 
ance is  often  transmitted  ;  and  finally,  that,  if  this  class 
of  nervous  derangements  does  not  increase  so  inuch  as  to 
attract  public  attention,  it  is  simply  because  the  community 
itself —  the  Quaker  body  —  does  not  increase,  but,  on  the 
contrary,  is  rather  on  the  wane. 

From  a  progenitrix,  then,  no  matter  in  what  generation, 

C.  L inherited   that  awful  malady  which  withered  his 

own  happiness,  root  and  branch,  gathering  strength  from 
year  to  year.  His  father  was  a  banker,  and,  I  presume, 
wealthy,  from  the  ample  allowance  which  he  always  made 
to  his  son  Charles.  Charles,  it  is  true,  had  the  rights  of 
primogeniture  —  which,  however,  in  a  commercial  family, 
are  not  considerable  —  but,  at  the  same  time,  though  eldest, 
he  was  eldest  of  seventeen  or  eighteen  brothers  and  sisters  ; 
and  of  these,  I  believe,  that  some  round  dozen  or  so  were 
living  at  the  time  when  1  first  came  to  know  him.  He  had 
been  educated  in  the  bosom  of  Quaker  society  ;  his  own 
parents,  with  most  of  their  friends,  were  Quakers ;  and, 
even  of  his  own  generation,  all  the  young  women  con- 
tinued Quakers,  Naturally,  therefore,  as  a  boy,  he  also 
was  obliged  to  conform  to  the  Quaker  ritual.  But  this 
ritual  presses  with  great  inequality  upon  the  two  sexes  ; 


148  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

in  SO  far,  at  least,  as  regards  dress.  The  distinctions  of 
dress  which  announce  the  female  Quaker,  are  all  in  her 
favor.  In  a  nation  eminent  for  personal  purity,  and  where 
it  should  seem  beforehand  impossible  for  any  woman  to 
create  a  pre-eminence  for  herself  in  that  respect  ;  so  it  is, 
however,  that  the  female  Quaker,  by  her  dress,  seems 
even  purer  than  other  women,  and  consecrated  to  a  ser- 
vice of  purity  ;  earthly  soil  or  taint,  even  the  sullying 
breath  of  mortality,  seems  as  if  kept  aloof  from  her  per- 
son—  forcibly  held  in  repulsion  by  some  protecting  sanc- 
tity. This  transcendent  purity,  and  a  nun-like  gentleness, 
self-respect,  and  sequestration  from  the  world  —  these  are 
all  that  her  peculiarity  of  dress  expresses  ;  and  surely  this 
'all'  is  quite  enough  to  win  every  man's  favorable  "feel- 
ings towards  her,  and  something  even  like  homage.  But, 
with  the  male  Quaker,  how  different  is  the  case  !  His 
dress  —  originally  not  remarkable  by  its  shape,  but  solely 
by  its  color  and  want  of  ornament,  so  peculiar  has  it  be- 
come in  a  lapse  of  nearly  two  centuries  —  seems  expressly 
devised  to  point  him  out  to  ridicule.  In  some  towns,  it  is 
true,  such  as  Birmingham  and  Kendal,  the  public  eye  is 
so  familiar  with  this  costume,  that  in  them  it  excites  no 
feeling  whatever  more  than  the  professional  costume  of 
butchers,  bakers,  grooms,  &c.  But  in  towns  not  com- 
mercial —  towns  of  luxury  and  parade  —  a  Quaker  is  ex- 
posed to  most  mortifying  trials  of  his  self-esteem.  It  has 
happened  that  1  have  followed  a  young  man  of  this  order 
for  a  quarter  of  ^i  mile,  in  Buth,  or  in  one  of  the  fashiona- 
ble streets  of  London,  on  a  summer  evening,  when  numer- 
ous servants  were  lounging  on  the  steps  of  the  front  door, 
or  at  the  area  gates  ;  and  I  have  seen  him  run  the  gaunt- 
let of  grim  smiles  from  the  men,  and  heard  him  run  the 
gauntlet  of  that  sound  —  the  worst  which  heaven  has  in 
its  artillery  of  scorn  against  the  peace  of  poor  man  —  the 


CHARLES    LLOYD.  149 

half-suppressed  titter  of  the  women.  Laughing  outright 
is  bfid,  but  still  that  may  be  construed  into  a  determinate 
insult  that  studiously  avows  more  contempt  than  is  really 
felt ;  but  tittering  is  hell  itself;  for  it  seems  mere  nature, 
and  absolute  truth,  that  extort  this  expression  of  contempt 
in  spite  of  every  effort  to  suppress  it. 

Some  such  expression  it  was  that  drove  Charles  L 

into  an  early  apostacy  from  his  sect :  early  it  must  have 
been,  for  he  went  at  the  usual  age  of  eighteen  to  Cam- 
bridge, and  there,  as  a  Quaker,  he  could  not  have  been 
received.  He,  indeed,  of  all  men,  was  the  least  fitted  to 
contend  with  the  world's  scorn,  for  he  had  no  great  forti- 
tude of  mind,  his  vocation  was  not  to  martyrdom,  and  he 
was  cursed  with  the  most  exquisite  sensibility.  This  sen- 
sibility, indeed,  it  was,  and  not  so  properly  any  determinate 
passion,  which  had  been  the  scourge  of  his  ancestress. 
There  was  something  that  appeared  effeminate  about  it; 
and  which,  accordingly,  used  to  provoke  the  ridicule  of 
Wordsworth,  whose  character,  in  all  its  features,  wore  a 
masculine  and  Roman  harshness.     But,  in  fact,  when  you 

came   to   know   Charles  L ,  there   was,  even  in  this 

slight  tinge  of  effeminacy,  something  which  conciliated 
your  pity  by  the  feeling  that  it  impressed  you  with,  of 
being  part  of  his  disease.  His  sensibility  was  eminently 
Rousseaiiish  —  that  is,  it  was  physico-moral ;  now  pointing 
to  appetites  that  would  have  mastered  him  had  he  been 
less  intellectual,  and  governed  by  a  less  exalted  standard 
of  moral  perceptions ;  now  pointing  to  fine  aerial  specu- 
lations, subtle  as  a  gossamer,  and  apparently  calculated  to 
lead  him  off  into  abstractions  even  too  remote  from  flesh 
and  blood. 

During  the  Cambridge  vacation,  or,  it  might  be,  even 
before  he  went  to  Cambridge  —  and  my  reason  for  think- 
ing so  is,  because  both,  I  believe,  belonged  to  the  same 


150  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

town,  if  it  could  not  be  said  of  them  as  of  Pyramus  and 
Thisbe,  that  '  contiguas  hahuere  domos''  —  he  fell  despe- 
rately in  love  with  Miss  Sophia  P n.     Who  she  was  I 

never  heard  —  that  is,  what  were  her  connections  ;  but,  I 
presume,  that  she  must  have  been  of  an  opulent  family, 
because  Mrs.  P n,  the  mother  of  Mrs.  L ,  occa- 
sionally paid  a  visit  to  her  daughter  at  the  lakes ;  and  that 
she  brought  with  her  a  handsomely-appointed  equipage, 
as  to  horses  and  servants.  This  I  have  reason  to  remem- 
ber from  the  fact  of  herself  and  her  daughter  frequently 
coming'  over  on  summer  evenings  to  drink  tea  with  me, 
and  the  affront  (as  I  then  thought  it)  which  Wordsworth 
fastened  upon  me  in  connection  with  one  of  those  visits. 
One  evening,          ****** 

A  pang  of  wrath  gathered  at  my  heart.  Yet  why .? 
One  moment,  I  felt,  indeed,  that  it  was  not  gentlemanly  to 
interfere  with  the  privileges  of  any  man  standing  in  the 
situation  which  I  then  occupied,  of  host;  but  still  I  should 
not  have  regarded  it,  except  from  its  connection  with  a 
case  I  recollected  in  a  previous  year.  One  fine  summer 
day,  we  were  walking  together  —  Wordsworth,  myself, 
and  Southcy.     Southey  had  been  making  earnest  inquiries 

about  poor  L ,  just  then  in  the  crisis  of  some  severe 

illness,  and  Wordsworth's  answer  had  been  partly  lost  to 
me.  I  put  a  question  upon  it,  when,  to  my  surprise,  (my 
wrath  internally,  but  also  to  my  special  amusement,)  he 
replied  that,  in  fact,  what  he  had  said  was  a  matter  of 
some  delicacy,  and  not  quite  proper  to  be  communicated 
except  to  near  friejids  of  the  family.  This  to  me  !  —  O 
ye  Gods !  —  to  me,  who  knew  by  many  a  hundred  con- 
versations, how    disagreeable    Wordsworth    was,  both    to 

Charles    L and    to    his    wife  ;    whilst,   on    the    other 

hand  —  not  by  words  only,  but  by  deeds,  and  by  the  most 
delicate  acts  of  confidential  favor  —  1  knew  that  Mr.  Wil- 


CHARLES    LLOYD.  151 

son  (Professor  Wilson)  and  myself  had  been  selected  as 
friends  in  cases  which  were  not  so  much  as  named  to 
Wordsworth.  The  arrogance  of  Wordsworth  was  well 
illustrated  in  this  case  of  the  L 's. 

But  to  resume  L 's  history.     Being  so  desperately 

in  love  with  Miss  P n,  and  his  parents  being  rich,  why 

should  he  not  have  married  her  ?  Why  I  know  not.  But 
some  great  obstacles  arose;  and,  I  presume,  on  the  side 
of  Miss  P n's  friends;  for,  actually,  it  became  neces- 
sary to  steal  her  away  ;  and  the  person  in  whom  L 

confided  for  this  delicate  service,  was  no  other  than 
Southey.  A  better  choice  he  could  not  have  made.  ■  Had 
the  lady  been  Helen  of  Greece,  Southey  would  not>  have 
had  a  thouijht  but  for  the  honor  and  interests  of  his  con- 
fid  in  g  friend. 

Having  thus,  by  proxy,  run  away  with  his  young  wife, 

and  married  her,  L brought  her  to  Cambridge.     It  is 

a  novel  thing  in  Cambridge,  though  not  altogether  unpre- 
cedented, for  a  student  to  live  there  with  a  wife.     This 

novelty  L exhibited  to  the  University  for  some  time ; 

but  then,  finding  the  situation  not  perfectly  agreeable  to 
the  delicate  sensibilities  of  his  young  wife,  L re- 
moved, first,  I  think,  to  Penrith  ;  and,  after  some  changes, 
he  settled  down  at  Brathay,  from  which,  so  long  as  he 
stayed  on  English  ground  —  that  is,  for  about  fifteen  or 
sixteen  years  —  he  never  moved.  When  I  first  crossed 
his  path  at  the  lakes,  he  was  in  the  zenith  of  the  brief 
happiness  that  was  granted  to  him  on  earth.  He  stood  in 
the  very  centre  of  earthly  pleasures  ;  and,  that  his  advan- 
tages may  be  easily  estimated,  I  will  describe  both  himself 
and  his  situation. 

First,  then,  as  to  his  person,  he  was  tall  and  somewhat 
clumsy  —  not  intellectual  so  much  as  benign  and  concilia- 
tory in  his  expression  of  face.     His  features  were  not 


152  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

striking,  but  they  expressed  great  goodness  of  heart ;  and 
latterly  wore  a  deprecatory  expression  that  was  peculiarly 
touchincr  to  those  who  knew  its  cause.  His  manners  were 
free  from  all  modes  of  vulgarity  ;  and,  where  he  acquired 
his  knowledge  I  know  not,  (for  I  never  heard  him  claim 
any  connection  with  people  of  rank,)  but  a  knowledge  he 
certainly  had  of  all  the  conventional  usages  amongst  the 
higher  circles,  and  of  those  purely  arbitrary  customs 
which  mere  good  sense  and  native  elegance  of  manner 
are  not,  of  themselves,  sufficient  to  teach.  Some  of  these 
he  might  have  learned  from  the  family  of  the  Bishop  of 
LlandafT;  for  with  the  ladies  of  that  family  he  was  inti- 
mate, especially  with  the  eldest  daughter,  who  was  an 
accomplished  student  in  that  very  department  of  literature 

which  L himself  most  cultivated,  viz.,  all  that  class 

of  works  which  deal  in  the  analysis  of  human  passions, 
or  attempt  to  exhibit  the  development  of  human  charac- 
ter,  in   relation  to   sexual  attachments,  when  placed    in 

trying   circunistances.      L corresponded    with    Miss 

Watson  in  French  ;  the  letters,  on  both  sides,  being  full 
of  spirit  and  originality;  the  subjects  generally  drawn 
from  Rousseau's  '  Ileloise  '  or  his  '  Confessions,'  from 
'  Corinne,'  from  '  Delphine,'  or  some  other  work  of  Ma- 
dame de  Stael.     For  such  disquisitions  L had  a  real 

and  a  powerful  genius.  It  was  really  a  delightful  luxury 
to  hear  him  giving  free  scope  to  his  powers  for  investi- 
gating subtle  combinations  of  character;  for  distinguish- 
ing all  the  shades  and  affinities  of  some  presiding  qualities, 
disentangling  their  intricacies,  and  balancing,  antithetic- 
ally, one  combination  of  qualities  against  another.  Take, 
for  instance,  any  well-known  character  from  the  drama, 

and  pique  L 's  delicate  perception  of  differences  by 

affecting  to  think  it  identical  with  some  other  character 
of  the  same  class  —  instantly,  in  his  anxiety  to  mark  out 


CHARLES    LLOYD.  153 

the  features  of  dissimilitude,  he  would  hurry  into  an  im- 
promptu analysis  of  each  character  separately,  with  an 
eloquence,  with  a  keenness  of  distinction,  and  a  felicity  of 
phrase,  whicli  were  perfectly  admirable.  This  display  of 
familiarity  with  life  and  human  nature,  in  all  its  masquer- 
adincTs,  was  sometimes  truly  splendid.  But  two  things 
were  remarkable  in  these  displays.  One  was,  that  the 
splendor  was  quite  hidden  from  himself,  and  unpercelved 
amidst  the  effort  of  mind,  and  oftentimes  severe  struggles, 
in  attempting  to  do  himself  justice,  both  as  respected  the 
thousihts  and  the  difhcult  task  of  clothing  them  in  ade- 
quate  words ;  he  was  as  free  from  vanity,  or  even  from 
complacency  in  reviewing  what  he  had  effected,  as  it  is 
possible  for  a  human  creature  to  be.  He  thought,  indeed, 
slightly  of  his  own  power;  and,  which  was  even  a  stronger 
barrier  against  vanity,  his  displays  of  this  kind  were  always 
effective  in  proportion  to  his  unhappiness  ;  for  unhappiness 
it  was,  and  the  restlessness  of  internal  irritation,  that  chiefly 
drove  him  to  exertions  of  his  intellect ;  else,  and  when  free 
from  this  sort  of  excitement,  he  tended  to  the  quiescent 
state  of  a  listener  ;  for  he  thought  everybody  better  than 
himself.  The  other  point  remarkable  in  these  displays 
was,  (and  most  unfavorable,  of  course,  it  proved  to  his 
obtaining  the  reputation  they  merited,)  that  he  could  suc- 
ceed in  them  only  before  confidential  friends,  those  on 
whom  he  could  rely  for  harboring  no  shade  of  ridicule 
towards  himself  or  his  theme.  Let  but  one  person  enter 
the  room  of  whose  sympathy  he  did  not  feel  secure,  and 
his  powers  forsook  him  as  suddenly  as  the  buoyancy  of  a 
bird  that  has  received  a  mortal  shot  in  its  wing.  Accord- 
ingly, it  is  a  fact  that  neither  Wordsworth  nor  Coleridge 
ever  suspected  the  amount  of  power  which  was  latent  in 

L ;  for  he  firmly  believed  that  both  of  them  despised 

him.      Mrs.   L thought  the  same  thing.     Often  and 


154  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

often  she  has  saM  to  me,  smiling  in  a  mournful  way  — 
'  I  know  too  well  that  both  Wordsworth  and  Coleridge 
entertain  a  profound  contempt  for  my  poor  Charles.' 
And,  when  I  combated  this  notion,  declaring  that,  although 
they  might  (and  probably  did)  hold  very  cheap  such 
writers  as  Rousseau  and  Madame  de  Stael,  and,  conse- 
quently, could  not  approve  of  studies  directed  so  exclu- 
sively o  their  works,  or  to  works  of  the  same  class,  still 
that  was   not  sufficient  to  warrant  them  in  undervaluing 

the  powers  which  Mr.  L applied  to  such  studies.     To 

this,  or  similar  arguments,  she  would  reply  by  simply 
shaking  her  head,  and  then  sink  into  silence. 

But  the  time  was  fast  approaching,  when  all  pains  of 
this  kind,  from  supercilious  or  well  founded  disparagement, 
were  to  be  swallowed  up  in  more  awful  considerations 
and  fears.     The  transition  was  not  a  long  one,  from  the 

state  of  prosperity  in  which  I  found  L about  1807-10, 

to  the  utter  overthrow  of  his  happiness,  and,  for  his 
friends,  the  overthrow  of  all  hopes  on  his  behalf.  In  the 
three  years  I  have  assigned,  his  situation  seemed  luxu- 
riously happy,  as  regarded  the  external  elements  of 
happiness.  He  had,  without  effort  of  his  own,  an  income, 
most  punctually  remitted  from  his  father,  of  from  ^^1500 
to  c£l800  per  annum.  This  income  was  entirely  resigned 
to  the  management  of  his  prudent  and  excellent  wife  ; 
and,  as  his  own  personal  expenses,  separate  from  those  of 
his  family,  were  absolutely  none  at  all,  except  for  books, 
she  applied  the  whole,  either  to  the  education  of  her 
children,  or  to  the  accumulation  of  all  such  elegances  of 
life  about  their  easy  unpretending  mansion,  as  might 
soothe  her  husband's  nervous  irritations,  or  might  cheer 
his  drooping  spirits,  with  as  much  variety  of  pleasure  as  a 
mountainous  seclusion  allowed.  The  establishment  of 
servants  was  usually  limited  to  six  —  one  only  being  a 


CHAKLES    LLOYD. 


155 


man  servant  —  but  these  were  well  chosen  :  and  one  or 
two  were  confidential  servants,  tried  by  long  experience. 
Rents  are  always  low  in  the  country  for  unfurnished 
houses ;  and  even  for  the  country,  Low  Brathay  was  a 
cheap  house  ;  but.  it  contained  everything  for  comfort, 
nothing  at  all  for  splendor.  Consequendy,  a  very  large 
part  of  their  income  was  disposable  for  purposes  of  hos- 
pitality ;  and,  when  I  first  knew  them,  Low  Brathay  was 
distinguished  above  every  other  house  at  the  head  of 
Windermere,  or  within  ten  miles  of  that  neighborhood,  by 
the  judicious  assortment  of  its  dinner  parties,  and  the 
gaiety  of    its   soirees   dansanies.      These    parties   were 

never  crowded  ;  poor  L rarely  danced  himself  ;  but 

it  gladdened  his  benevolent  heart  to  see  the  young  and 
blooming  floatincr  through  the  mazes  of  the  dances  then 
fashionable,  whilst  he  sat  by  looking  on,  at  times,  with 
pleasure  from  his  sympathy  with  the  pleasure  of  others ; 
at  times  pursuing  some  animated  discussion  with  a  literary 
friend  ;  at  times  lapsing  into  profound  reverie.  At  some 
of  these  dances  it  was  that  I  first  saw  Wilson  of  EUeray, 
(Professor  Wilson,)  in  circumstances  of  animation,  and 
buoyant  with  youthful  spirits,  under  the  excitement  of 
lights,  wine,  and,  above  all,  of  female  company.  He,  by 
the  way,  was  the  best  male  dancer  (not  professional)  I 
have  ever  seen  ;  and  this  advantage  he  owed  entirely  to  the 
extraordinary  strength  of  his  foot  in  all  its  parts,  to  its  pecu- 
liarly happy  conformation,  and  to  the  accuracy  of  his  ear  ; 
for,  as  to  instruction,  I  have  often  understood,  from  his  fam- 
ily, that  he  never  had  any.     Here  also  danced  the  future 

wife  of  Professor  Wilson,  Miss  Jane  P ,  at  that  time  the 

leading  belle  of  the  Lake  country.  But,  perhaps,  the 
most  interesting  person  in  those  parties,  from  the  peculiar- 
ity of  her  situation,  was  Mrs.  L herself,  still  young, 

and,  indeed,  not  apparently  exceeding  in  years  most  of 


156  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

her  unmarried  visiters  ;  still  dancing  and  moving  through 
cotillons,  or  country  dances,  as  elegantly  and  as  lightly 
as  the  youngest  of  the  company  ;  still  framing  her  coun- 
tenance to  that  expression  of  cheerfulness  which  hospitality 
required ;  but  stealing  for  ever  troubled  glances  to  the 
sofa,  or  the  recess,  where  her  husband  had  reclined 
himself  —  dark  foreboding  looks,  that  saw  but  too  truly 
the  coming  darkness  which  was  soon  to  swallow  up  every 
vestige  of  this  festal  pleasure.  She  looked  upon  herself 
and  her  children  too  clearly  as  a  doomed  household  ;  and 
such,  in  some  sense,  they  were.     And,  doubtless,  to  poor 

L himself,  it  must  a  thousandfold  have  aggravated 

his  sufferings  —  that  he  could  trace,  with  a  steady  eye,  the 
continual  growth  of  that  hideous  malady  which  was 
stealing  over  the  else  untroubled  azure  of  his  life,  and 
whh  inaudible  foot  was  hastening  onwards  for  ever  to  that 
night  in  which  no  man  can  work,  and  in  which  no  man 
can  hope. 

It  was  so  painful  to  Charles  L ,  naturally,  to  talk 

much  about  his  bodily  sufferings,  and  it  would  evidently 
have  been  so  unfeeling  in  one  who  had  no  medical  coun- 
sels to  offer,  if,  for  the  mere  gratification  of  his  curiosity, 
he  had  asked  for  any  circumstantial  account  of  its  nature  or 
symptoms,  that  I  am  at  this  moment  almost  as  much  at  a 
loss  to  understand  what  was  the  mode  of  suffering  which 
it  produced,  how  it  operated,  and  through  what  organs,  as 
any  of  my  readers  can  be.  All  that  1  know  is  this  :  —  For 
several  years  —  six  or  seven,  suppose  —  the  disease  ex- 
pressed itself  by  intense  anguish  of  irritation  ;  not  an 
irritation  that  gnawed  at  any  one  local  spot,  but  diffused 
itself;  sometimes  causing  a  determination  of  blood  to  the 
head,  then  shaping  itself  in  a  general  sense  of  plethoric 
congestion  in  the  blood-vessels,  then  again  remoulding 
itself    into   a   restlessness    that    became    insupportable ; 


CHARLES    LLOYD.  157 

preying  upon  the  spirits  and  the  fortitude,  and  finding  no 
permanent  relief  or  periodic  Interval  of  rest,  night  or  day. 
Sometimes  L used  robust  exercise,  riding  on  horse- 
back as  fast  as  he  could  urge  the  horse  forward  ;  some- 
times, foj:  many  weeks  together,  he  walked  for  twenty 
miles,  or  even  more,  at  a  time ;  sometimes  (this  was  in 
the  earlier  stages  of  the  case)  he  took  large  doses  of  ether  ; 
sometimes  he  used  opium,  and,  I  believe,  in  very  large 
quantities  ;  and  I  understood  him  to  say  that,  for  a  time,  it 
subdued  the  excess  of  irritability,  and  the  agonizing 
accumulation  of  spasmodic  strength  which  he  felt  for  ever 
growing  upon  him,  and,  as  it  were,  upon  the  very  surface 
of  his  whole  body.  But  all  remedies  availed  him  nothing; 
and  once  he  said  to  me,  when  we  were  out  upon  the  hills 
—  *  Ay,  that  landscape  below,  with  its  quiet  cottage,  looks 
lovely,  I  dare  say,  to  you  :  as  for  me,  I  see  it,  but  1  feel  it 
not  at  all  ;  for,  if  I  begin  to  think  of  the  happiness,  and 
its  various  modes  which,  no  doubt,  belong  to  the  various 
occupants,  according  to  their  ages  and  hopes,  then  I  could 
begin  to  feel  it ;  but  it  would  be  a  painful  effort  to  me  ; 
and  ihe  worst  of  all  would  be,  when  I  had  felt  it ;  for 
that  would  so  sharpen  the  prospect  before  mc,  that  just 
such  happiness,  which  natura'lly  ought  to  be  mine,  is  soon 
on  the  point  of  slipping  away  from  me  for  ever.' 

Afterwards  he  told  me  that  his  situation  internally  was 
always  this  —  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  on  some  distant  road 
he  heard  a  dull  trampling  sound,  and  that  he  knew  it,  by 
a  misgiving,  to  be  the  sound  of  some  man,  or  party  of 
men,  continually  advancing  slowly,  continually  threaten- 
ing, or  continually  accusing  liim  ;  that  all  the  various 
artifices  which  he  practised  for  cheating  himself  into 
comfort,  or  beguiling  his  sad  forebodings,  were,  in  fact, 
but  like  so  many  furious  attempts,  by  drum  and  trumpets, 
or  even  by  artillery,  to  drown  the   distant  noise   of   his 


158  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

enemies ;  that,  every  now  and  then,  mere  curiosity,  or 
rather  breathless  anxiety,  caused  him  to  hush  the  artificial 
din,  and  to  put  himself  into  the  attitude  of  listening  again  ; 
when,  again  and  again,  and  so  he  was  sure  it  would  still 
be,  he  caught  the  sullen  and  accursed  sound,  trampling 
and  voices  of  men,  or  whatever  it  were,  still  steadily 
advancing,  though  still,  perhaps,  at  a  great  distance.  It 
was  too  evident  that  derangement  of  the  intellect,  in  some 
shape,  was  coming  on  ;  because  slight  and  transient  fits  of 
aberration  from  his  perfect  mind,  had  already,  at  intervals, 
overtaken  him ;  flying  showers,  from  the  skirts  of  the 
clouds,  that  precede  and  announce  the  main  storm.  This 
was  the  anguish  of  his  situation,  that,  for  years,  he  saw 
before  him  what  was  on  the  road  to  overwhelm  his 
faculties  and  his  happiness.  Still  his  fortitude  did  not 
wholly  forsake  him,  and,  in  fact,  proved  to  be  far  greater 
than  I  or  others  had  given  him  credit  for  possessing.  Once 
only  he  burst  suddenly  into  tears,  on  hearing  the  innocent 
voices  of  his  own  children  laughing,  and  of  one  especially 
who  was  a  favorite  ;  and  he  told  me  that  sometimes,  when 
this  little  child  took  his  hand  and  led  him  passively  about 
the  garden,  he  had  a  feeling  that  prompted  him  (however 
weak  and  foolish  it  seemed)  to  call  upon  tliis  child  for 
protection;  and  that  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  he  might  still 
escape,  could  he  but  surround  himself  only  with  children. 
No  doubt  this  feeling  arose  out  of  his  sense  that  a  confu- 
sion was  stealing  over  his  thoughts,  and  that  men  would 
soon  find  this  out  to  be  madness,  and  would  deal  with  him 
accordingly;  whereas  children,  as  long  as  he  did  them  no 
harm,  would  see  no  reason  for  shutting  him  up  from  his 
own  fireside,  and  from  the  human  face  divine. 

It  would  be  too  painful  to  pursue  the  unhappy  case 
through  all  its  stages.  For  a  long  time,  the  derangement 
of  poor  L 's  mind  was  but  partial   and   fluctuating  ; 


CHARLES    LLOYD.  159 

and  it  was  the  opinion  of  Professor  Wilson,  from  \\hat  ho 
had  observed,  that  it  was  possible  to  recall  him  to  himself 
by  firmly  opposing  his  delusions.  He  certainly,  on  his 
own  part,  did  whatever  he  could  to  wean  his  thoughts  from 
gloomy  contemplation,  by  preoccupying  them  with  cheer- 
ful studies,  and  such  as  might  call  out  his  faculties.  He 
translated  the  whole  of  Alfieri's  dramas,  and  published 
his  translation.  He  wro  e  and  printed  (but  did  not 
publish)  a  novel  in  two  volumes  ;  my  copy  of  which  he 
soon  after  begged  back  again  so  beseechingly,  that  I 
yielded  ;  and  so,  I  believe,  did  all  his  other  friends :  in 
which  case  no  copy  may  now  exist.  A  I,  however, 
availed  him  not ;  the  crisis  so  long  dreaded  arrived.  He 
was  taken  away  to  a  lunatic  asylum  ;  and,  for  some  lonnr 
time,  he  was  lost  to  me  as  to  the  rest  of  the  world.  The 
first  memorial  I  had  of  him,  was  a  gentleman,  with  his 
hair  in  disorder,  rushing  into  my  cottage  at  Grasmere, 
throwing  his  arms  about  my  neck,  and  bursting  into  stormy 

weeping  —  it  was  poor  L ! 

Yes,  it  was  indeed  poor  L ,  a  fugitive  from  a  mad- 
house, and  throwing  himself  for  security  upon  the  honor 
and  affection  of  one  whom,  with  good  reason,  he  supposed 
confidentially  attached  to  him.  Could  there  be  a  situation 
so  full  of  interest  or  perplexity  ?  Should  any  ill  happen 
to  himself,  or  to  another,  though  his  present  enlargement 
—  should  he  take  any  fit  of  vindictive  malice  against  any 
person  whom  he  might  view  as  an  accomplice  in  the  plans 
against  his  own  freedom,  and  probably  many  persons  in 
the  neighborhood,  medical  and  non-medical,  stood  liable 
to  such  a  suspicion  —  upon  me,  I  felt,  as  the  abettor  of 
his  evasion,  would  all  the  blame  settle.  And  unfortunately 
we  had,  in  the  recent  records  of  this  very  vale,  a  most 
awful  lesson,  and  still  fresh  in  everybody's  remembrance, 
of  the  danger  connected  with  this  sort  of  criminal  con- 


160  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

nivance,  or  passive  participation  in  the  purposes  of 
maniacal  malignity.  A  man,  named  Watson,  had  often 
and  for  years  threatened  to  kill  his  aged  and  inoffensive 
mother.  His  threats,  partly  from  their  own  monstrosity, 
and  from  the  habit  of  hearing  him  for  years  repeating 
them  without  any  serious  attempt  to  give  them  effect  — 
partly  also  from  an  unwillingness  to  aggravate  the  suffer- 
ing of  the  poor  lunatic,  by  translating  him  out  of  a 
mountaineer's  liberty,  into  the  gloomy  confinement  of  an 
hospital  —  were  treated  with  neglect ;  and  at  lengih,  after 
years  of  disregarded  menace,  and  direct  forewarning  to 
the  parish  authorities,  he  took  an  opportunity  (which 
indeed  was  rarely  wanting  to  him)  of  killing  the  poor 
gray-headed  woman,  by  her  own  fireside.  This  case  I 
had  before  my  mind  ;  and  it  was  the  more  entitled  to 
have  weisjht  with  me  when  connected   with  the  altered 

temper  of  L ,  who  now,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life, 

had  dropped  his  gentle  and  remarkably  quiet  demeanor, 
for  a  tone,  savage  and  ferocious,  towards  more  than  one 
individual.  This  tone,  however,  lurked  under  a  mask, 
and  did  not  come  forward,  except  by  fits  and  starts,  for 
the  present.  Indeed  his  whole  inanner  wore  the  appear- 
ance of  studied  dissimulation,  from  the  moment  wlien  he 
perceived  that  I  was  not  alone.  In  the  interval  of  years 
since  I  had  last  seen  him,  (which  might  have  been  in 
1818,)  my  own  marriage  had  taken  place  ;  accordingly, 
on  turning  round  and  seeing  a  young  woman  seated  at 
the  tea-table,  where  heretofore  he  had  been  so  sure  of 
finding  me  alone,  he  seemed  shocked  at  the  depth  of 
emotion  which  he  had  betrayed  before  a  stranger,  and 
anxious  to  reinstate  himself  in  his  own  self-respect,  by 
assuming  a  tone  of  carelessness  and  indifference.  No 
person  in  the  world  could  feel  more  profoundly  on  his 
account  than  the   young  stranger  before  him,  who  in  fact 


CHARLES    LLOYD.  161 

was  not  a  stranger  to  his  situation  and  the  excess  of  his 
misery.  But  this  he  could  not  know  ;  and  it  was  not, 
therefore,  until  we  found  ourselves  alone,  that  he  could  be 
prevailed  upon  to  speak  of  himself,  or  of  the  awful  cir- 
cumstances surrounding  him,  unless  in  terms  of  most 
unsuitable  levity. 

One  thing  I  resolved,  at  any  rate,  to  make  the  rule  of  my 
conduct  towards  this  unhappy  friend,  viz.,  to  deal  frankly 
with  him,  and  in  no  case  to  make  myself  a  party  to  any 
plot  upon  his  personal  freedom.  Retaken  I  knew  he  would 
be,  but  not  through  me  ;  even  a  murderer  in  such  a  case, 
(i.  e.,  the  case  of  having  thrown  himself  upon  my  good 
faith,)  I  would  not  betray.  I  drew  from  him  an  account  of 
the  immediate  facts  in  his  late  escape  and  his  own  ac- 
knowledgment that  even  now  the  pursuit  must  be  close  at 
hand  ;  probably,  that  his  recaptors  were  within  a  few  hours' 
distance  of  Grasmere  ;  that  he  would  be  easily  traced. 
That  my  cottage  furnished  no  means  of  concealment,  he 
knew  too  well  ;  still  in  these  respects  he  was  not  worse  off 
in  Grasmere  than  elsewhere  ;  and,  at  any  rate,  it  might 
save  him  from  immediate  renewal  of  his  agitation,  and 
might  procure  for  him  one  night  of  luxurious  rest  and 
relaxation,  by  means  of  conversation  with  a  friend,  if  he 
would  make  up  his  mind  to  stay  with  us  until  his  pursuers 
should  appear ;  and  them  I  could  easily  contrive  to  delay, 
for  at  least  one  day  and  night,  by  throwing  false  informa- 
tion in  their  way,  such  as  would  send  them  on  to  Keswick 
at  least,  if  not  to  Whitehaven,  through  the  collusion  of  the 
very  few  persons  who  could  have  seen  him  enter  my  door. 
My  plan  was  simple  and  feasible  :  but  somehow  or  other, 
and,  I  believe,  chiefly  because  he  did  not  find  me  alone, 
nothing  I  could  say  had  any  weight  with  him  ;  nor  would 
he  be  persuaded  to  stay  longer  than  for  a  little  tea.  Staying 
so  short  a  time,  he  found  it  difficult  to  account  for  having 

VOL.   II.  H 


162  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

ever  come.  But  it  was  too  evidently  useless  to  argue  the 
point  with  him  ;  for  he  was  altered,  and  had  become 
obstinate  and  intractable.  I  prepared,  therefore,  to  gratify 
him  according  to  his  own  plan,  by  bearing  him  company 
on  the  road  to  Ambleside,  and  (as  he  said)  to  Brathay. 
We  set  off  on  foot  :  the  distance  to  Ambleside  is  about 
three  and  a  half  miles  ;  and  one-third  of  this  distance 
brought  us  to  an  open  plain  on  the  margin  of  Rydalmere, 
where  the  road  lies  entirely  open  to  the  water.  This  lake 
is  unusually  shallow,  by  comparison  with  all  its  neighbors ; 
but,  at  the  point  I  speak  of,  it  takes  (especially  when  seen 
under  any  mode  of  imperfect  light)  the  appearance  of 
being  gloomily  deep  :  two  islands  of  exquisite  beauty,  but 
strongly  discriminated  in  character,  and  a  sort  of  recess 
or  bay  in  the  opposite  shore,  across  which  the  shadows  of 
the  hilly  margin  stretch  with  great  breadth  and  solemnity 
of  effect  to  the  very  centre  of  the  lake,  together  with  the 
very  solitary  character  of  the  entire  valley,  on  which  (ex- 
cluding the  little  hamlet  in  its  very  gorge  or  entrance)  there 
is  not  more  than  one  single  house,  combine  to  make  the 
scene  as  impressive  by  night  as  any  in  the  lake  country. 
At  this  point  it  was  that  my  poor  friend  paused  to  converse, 
and,  as  it  seemed,  to  take  his  leave,  with  an  air  of  peculiar 
sadness,  as  if  he  had  foreseen  (what  in  fact  proved  to  be 
the  truth)  that  we  now  saw  each  other  for  the  final  time. 
The  spot  seemed  favorable  to  confidential  talk  ;  and  here, 
therefore,  he  proceeded  to  make  his  last  heart-rending 
communication  :  here  he  told  me  rapidly  the  tale  of  his 
sufferings,  and,  what  oppressed  his  mind  far  more  than 
those  at  this  present  moment,  of  the  cruel  indignities  to 
which  he  had  been  under  the  necessity  of  submitting.  In 
particular,  he  said  that  a  man  of  great  muscular  power 
had  instructions  to  knock  him  down  whenever  he  made  any 
allusion  to  certain  speculative  subjects,  which  the  presiding 


CHARLES     LLOYB.  163 

authorities  of  the  asylum  chose  to  think  connected  with  his 
unhappy  disease.  Many  other  brutaUties,  damnable  and 
dishonoring  to  human  nature,  were  practised  in  this  asylum, 
not  always  by  abuse  of  the  powers  lodged  in  the  servants, 
but  by  direct  authority  from  the  governors ;  and  yet  it  had 
been  selected  as  the  one  most  favorable  to  a  liberal  treat- 
ment of  the  patients  ;  and,  in  reality,  it  continued  to  hold 
a  very  high  reputation. 

Great  and  monstrous  are  the  abuses  which  have  been 
detected  in  such  institutions,  and  exposed  by  parliamentary 
interference,  as  well  as  by  the  energy  of  individual  philan- 
thropists :  but  it  occurs  to  one  most  forcibly,  that,  after  all, 
the  light  of  this  parliamentary  torch  must  have  been  but 
feeble  and  partial,  when  it  was  possible  for  cases  such  as 
these  to  escape  all  general  notice,  and  for  the  establishment 
which  fostered  them  to  retain  a  character  as  high  as  any 
in  the  land  for  enlightened  humanity.  Perhaps  the  para- 
mount care  in  the  treatment  of  lunatics  should  be  directed 
toward  those  appliances,  and  that  mode  of  discipline  which 
is  best  fitted  for  restoring  the  patient  finally  to  a  sane  con- 
dition ;  but  the  second  place  in  the  machinery  of  his  proper 
management,  should  be  reserved  for  that  system  of  atten- 
tions, medical  or  non-medical,  which  have  the  best  chance 
of  making  him  happy  for  the  present ;  and  especially 
because  his  present  happiness  must  always  be  one  of  the 
directest  avenues  to  his  restoration.  In  the  present  case, 
could  it  be  imagined  that  the  shame,  agitation,  and  fury, 
which  convulsed  poor  L ,  as  he  went  over  the  circum- 
stances'of  his  degradation,  were  calculated  for  any  other 
than  the  worst  effects  upon  the  state  and  prospects  of  his 
malady  ?  By  sustaining  the  tumult  of  his  brain,  they 
must,  almost  of  themselves,  have  precluded  his  restoration. 
At  the  side  of  that  quiet  lake  he  stood  for  nearly  an  hour 
repeating  his  wrongs,  his  eyes  glaring  continually,  as  the 


164  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

light  thrown  off  from  those  parts  of  the  lake  which  reflected 
bright  tracts  of  sky  amongst  the  clouds  fitfully  illuminated 
them,  and  again  and  again  threatening,  with  gestures  the 
wildest,  vengeance  the  most  savage  upon  those  vile  keepers 
who  had  so  abused  any  just  purposes  of  authority.  He 
would  talk  of  little  else ;  apparently  he  could  not.  A 
hollow  effort  he  would  make  now  and  then,  when  his  story 
had  apparently  reached  its  close,  to  sustain  the  topic  of  or- 
dinary conversation  ;  but  in  a  minute  he  had  relapsed  into 
the  one  subject  which  possessed  him.  In  vain  I  pressed  him 
to  return  with  me  to  Grasmere.  He  was  now,  for  a  few 
hours  to  come,  to  be  befriended  by  the  darkness  ;  and  he 
resolved  to  improve  the  opportunity  for  some  purpose  of  his 
own,  which,  as  he  showed  no  disposition  to  communicate 
any  part  of  his  future  plans,  I  did  not  directly  inquire  into. 
In  fact,  part  of  his  purpose  in  stopping  where  he  did,  had 
been  to  let  me  know  that  he  did  not  wish  for  company  any 
further.  We  parted  ;  and  I  saw  him  no  more.  He  was 
soon  recaptured  ;  then  transferred  to  some  more  eligible 
asylum  ;  then  liberated  from  all  restraint ;  after  which, 
with  his  family,  he  went  to  France  ;  where  again  it  became 
necessary  to  deprive  him  of  liberty.  And,  finally,  in 
France  it  was  that  his  feverish  existence  found  at  length  a 
natural  rest  and  an  everlasting  liberty  ;  for  there  it  was, 
in  a  maison  de  sante,  at  or  near  Versailles,  that  he  died, 
(and  I  believe  tranquilly,)  a  few  years  after  he  had  left 
England.  Death  was  indeed  to  him,  in  the  words  of  that 
fine  mystic,  Blake  the  artist,  '  a  golden  gate  '  —  the  gate 
of  liberation  from  the  captivity  of  half  a  life ;  or,  as  I 
once  found  the  case  beautifully  expressed  in  a  volume  of 
poems  a  century  old,  and  otherwise  poor  enough,  for  they 
offered  nothing  worth  recollecting  beyond  this  single  line, 
in  speaking  of  the  particular  morning  in  which  some  young 
man  had  died  — 


CHARLES    LLOYD. 


165 


'  That  morning  brought  him  peace  and  liberty.' 

Charles  L never  returned  to  Brathay  after  he  had 

once  been  removed  from  it ;  and  the  removal  of  his  family- 
soon  followed.     Mrs.  L ,  indeed,  returned  at  intervals 

from  France  to  England,  upon  business  connected  with 
the  interests  of  her  family  ;  and,  during  one  of  those 
fufTJtive  visits,  she  came  to  the  Lakes,  where  she  selected 
Grasmere  for  her  residence,  so  that  I  had  opportunities  of 
seeing  her  every  day,  for  a  space  of  several  weeks. 
Otherwise,  I  never  again  saw  any  of  the  family,  except 
one  son,  an  interesting  young  man,  who  sought  most 
meritoriously,  by  bursting  asunder  the  heavy  yoke  of  con- 
stitutional inactivity,  to  extract  a  balm  for  his  own  besetting 
melancholy,  from  a  constant  series  of  exertions  in  which 
he  had  forced  himself  to  engage,  for  promoting  education 
or  religious  knowledge  amongst  his  poorer  neighbors. 
But  often  and  often,  in  years  after  all  was  gone,  1  have 
passed  old  Brathay,  or  have  gone  over  purposely  after  dark, 
about  the  time  when,  for  many  a  year,  I  used  to  go  over  to 
spend  the  evening;  and,  seating  myself  on  a  stone,  by  the 
side  of  the  mountain  river  Brathay,  have  stayed  for  hours 

listening  to  the  same  sound  to  which  so  often  C L 

and  I  used  to  hearken  together  with  profound  emotion  and 
awe  —  the  sound  of  pealing  anthems,  as  if  streaming  from 
the  open  portals  of  some  illimitable  cathedral ;  for  such  a 
sound  does  actually  arise,  in  many  states  of  the  weather, 
from  the  peculiar  action  of  the  river  Brathay  upon  its  rocky 
bed  ;  and  many  times  I  have  heard  it,  of  a  quiet  night, 
when  no  stranger  could  have  been  persuaded  to  believe  it 
other  than  the  sound  of  choral  chanting  —  distant,  solemn, 
saintly.  Its  meaning  and  expression  were,  in  those  earlier 
years,  uncertain  and  general  ;  not  more  pointed  or  deter- 
mined in  the  direction  which  it  impressed  upon  one's 
feelings  than  the  light  of  setting  suns  :  and  sweeping,  in 


166  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

fact  the  whole  harp  of  pensive  sensibilities,  rather  than 
striking  the  chord  of  any  one  specific  sentiment. 

But  since  the  ruin  or  dispersion  of  that  household,  after 
the  smoke  had  ceased  to  ascend  from  their  hearth,  or  the 
garden  walks  to  re-echo  their  voices,  oftentimes,  when 
lying  by  the  river  side,  I  have  listened  to  the  same  aerial 
saintly  sound,  whilst  looking  back  to  that  night,  long  hidden 
in  the  frost  of  receding  years,  when  Charles  and  Sophia 

L ,  now  lying  in  foreign  graves,  first  dawned  upon  me, 

coming  suddenly  out  of  rain  and  darkness  ;  then  — young, 
rich,  happy,  full  of  hope,  belted  with  young  children,  (of 
whom  also  most  are  long  dead,)  and  standing  apparently 
on  the  verge  of  a  labyrinth  of  golden  hours.     Musing  on 
that  night  in  November,  1807,  and  then  upon  the  wreck 
that  had  been  wrought  by  a  space  of  fifteen  years,  I  would 
say  to  myself  sometimes,  and  seem  to  hear  it  in  the  songs 
of  this  watery  cathedral  —  Put  not  your  trust  in  any  fabric 
of  happiness  that  has  its  root  in  man  or  the  children  of 
men.     Sometimes  even  I  was  tempted  to  discover  in  the 
same  music,  a  sound  such  as  this  —  Love  nothing,  love 
nobody,  for  thereby  comes  a  killing  curse  in  the  rear.    But 
sometimes  also,  very  early  on  a  summer  morning,  when 
the  dawn  was  barely  beginning  to  break,  all  things  locked 
in  sleep,  and  only  some  uneasy  murmur  or  cock-crow,  at 
a  faint  distance,  giving  a  hint  of  resurrection  for  earth  and 
her  generations,  I  have  heard,  in  that  same  chanting  of 
the  little  mountain  river,  a  more  solemn  if  a  less  agitated 
admonition — a  requiem  over  departed  happiness,  and  a 
protestation  against  the   thought   that  so   many   excellent 
creatures,  but  a  little  lower  than  the  angels,  whom  I  have 
seen  only  to  love  in  this  life  —  so  many  of  the   good,  the 
brave,  the  beautiful,  the  wise  —  can  have  appeared  for  no 
higher  purpose  or  prospect  than  simply  to  point  a  moral, 
to  cause  a  little  joy  and  many  tears,  a  few  perishing  moons 


CHARLES     LLOYD. 


1G7 


of  happiness  and  years  of  vain  regret, —  No!  that  the 
destiny  of  man  is  more  in  correspondence  with  the  gran- 
deur of  his  endowments;  and  that  our  own  mysterious 
tendencies  are  written  hieroglyphically  in  the  vicissitudes 
of  day  and  night,  of  winter  and  summer,  and  throughout 
the  great  alphabet  of  Nature.  But  on  that  theme  —  Be- 
ware, reader  !  Listen  to  no  inlellectucd  argument.  One 
argument  there  is,  one  only  there  is,  of  philosophic  value : 
an  argument  drawn  from  the  moral  nature  of  man ;  an 
argument  of  Immanuel  Kant's.  The  rest  are  dust  and 
ashes. 


CHAPTER  XIX, 

SOCIETY    OF    THE    LAKES. 

Passing  onwards  from  Brathay,  a  ride  of  about  forty 
minutes  carries  you  to  the  summit  of  a  wild  heathy  tract, 
along   which,    even    at   noonday,  few    sounds    are   heard 
that  indicate  the  presence  of  man,  except  now  and  then  a 
woodman's    axe,    in    some    of   the    many    coppice- woods 
scattered  about  that  neighborhood.     In  Nonhern  England 
there  are  no  sheep-bells ;    which  is  an  unfortunate  defect, 
as  regards  the  full  impression  of  wild  solitudes,  whether 
amongst   undulating   heaths,  or  towering   rocks  :  at  any 
rate,  it  is  so  felt  by  those  who,  like  myself,   have  been 
trained  to  its  soothing  effects,  upon  the  hills  of  Somerset- 
shire—  the  Cheddar,  the  Mendip,  or  the   Quantock  —  or 
any  other  of  those  breezy  downs,  which  once  constituted 
such  delightful  local  distinctions  for  four  or  five  counties 
in  that  south-west  angle  of  England.     At  all  hours  of  day 
or  night,  this  silvery  tinkle  was  delightful  ;  but,  after  sun- 
set, in  the  solemn  hour  of  gathering  twilight,  heard  (as  it 
always  was)  intermittingly,  and  at  great  varieties  of   dis- 
tance, it  formed  the  most  impressive  incident  for  the  ear, 
and  the  most  in  harmony  with  the  other  circumstances  of 
the    scenery,    that,   perhaps,    anywhere    exists  —  not    ex- 
cepting even  the  natural  sounds,  the  swelling  and  dying 
intonations   of  insects    wheeling   in    their   vesper   flights. 
Silence   and   desolation  are  never  felt  so   profoundly  as 


SOCIETY    OF    THE    LAKES.  169 

when  they  are  interrupted  by  solemn  sounds,  recurring  by 
uncertain  intervals,  and  from  distant  places.  But  in  these 
Westmoreland  heaths,  and  uninhabited  ranges  of  hilly 
ground,  too  often  nothing  is  heard,  except,  occasionally, 
the  wild  cry  of  a  bird  —  the  plover,  the  snipe,  or  perhaps 
the  raven's  croak.  The  general  impression  is,  therefore, 
cheerless  ;  and  the  more  are  you  rejoiced  when,  looking 
down  from  some  one  of  the  eminences  which  you  have 
been  gradually  ascending,  you  descry,  at  a  great  depth 
below,*  the  lovely  lake  of  Coniston.  The  head  of  this 
lake  is  the  part  chiefly  interesting,  both  from  the  sublime 
character  of  the  mountain  barriers,  and  from  the  intricacy 
of  the  little  valleys  at  their  base.  On  a  little  verdant 
knoll,  near  the  north-eastern  margin  of  the  lake,  stands  a 
small  villa,  called  Tent  Lodge,  built  by  Colonel  Smith, 
and  for  many  years  occupied  by  his  family.  That 
daughter  of  Colonel  Smith  who  drew  the  public  attention 
so  powerfully  upon  herself  by  the  splendor  of  her  attain- 
ments, had  died  some  months  before  I  came  into  the 
country.  But  yet,  as  I  was  subsequently  acquainted  with 
her  family  through  the  Lloyds,  (who  were  within  an  easy 
drive  of  Tent  Lodge,)  and  as,  moreover,  with  regard  to 
Miss  Elizabeth  Smith  herself,  I  came  to  know  more  than 
the  world  knew  —  drawing  my  knowledge  from  many  of 
her  friends,  but  especially  from  Mrs.  Hannah  More,  who 


*  The  approach  from  Ambleside  or  Hawkshead,  though  fine,  is  far 
less  so  than  that  from  Grasmere,  through  the  vale  of  Tilberlhwaite,  to 
which,  for  a  coup  de  theatre,  I  recollect  nothing  equal.  Taking  the  left- 
hand  road,  so  as  to  make  for  Monk  Coniston,  and  not  for  Church  Con- 
iston, you  ascend  a  pretty  steep  hill,  from  which  at  a  certain  point  of 
the  little  gorge  or  haicsc,  (i.  e.  hals,  neck  or  throat,  viz.,  the  dip  in  any 
hill  ilirough  which  the  road  is  led,)  the  whole  lake  of  six  miles  in 
length,  and  the  beautiful  foregrounds,  all  rush  upon  the  eye  with  the 
effect  of  a  pantomimic  surprise  —  not  by  a  graduated  revelation,  but  by 
an  instantaneous  flash. 


170  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

had  been  intimately  connected  with  her  ;  for  these  reasons, 
I  shall  rehearse  the  leading  points  of  her  story ;  and  the 
rather,  because  her  family,  who  were  equally  interested 
in  that  story,  long  continued  to  form  part  of  the  Lake 
society. 

On  my  first  becoming  acquainted  with  Miss  Smith's 
pretensions,  it  is  very  true  that  I  regarded  them  with  but 
little  concern ;  for  nothing  ever  interests  me  less  than 
great  philological  attainments,  or  at  least  that  mode  of 
philological  learning  which  consists  in  mastery  over 
languages.  But  one  reason  for  this  indifference  is,  that 
the  apparent  splendor  is  too  often  a  false  one.  They 
who  know  a  vast  number  of  languages,  rarely  know  any 
one  with  accuracy ;  and  the  more  they  gain  in  one  way, 
the  more  they  lose  in  another.  With  Miss  Smith,  however, 
I  gi'adually  came  to  know  that  this  was  not  the  case  ;  or, 
at  any  rate,  but  partially  the  case  ;  for,  of  some  languages 
which  she  possessed,  and  those  the  least  accessible,  it 
appeared,  finally,  that  she  had  even  a  critical  knowledge. 
It  created  also  a  secondary  interest  in  these  difficult 
accomplishments  of  hers,  to  find  that  they  were  so  very 
extensive.  Secondly,  That  they  were  pretty  nearly  all 
of  self-acquisition.  Thirdly,  That  they  were  borne  so 
meekly,  and   with  unaffected  absence  of  all  ostentation. 

ml      ' 

As  to  the  first  point,  it  appears  (from  Mrs.  H.  Bowdler's 
Letter  to  Dr.  Mummsen,  the  friend  of  Klopstock)  that  she 
made  herself  mistress  of  the  French,  the  Italian,  the 
Spanish,  the  Latin,  the  German,  the  Greek,  and  the 
Hebrew  languaa;es.  She  had  no  inconsiderable  know- 
ledge  of  the  Syriac,  the  Arabic,  and  the  Persic.  She  was 
a  good  geometrician  and  algebraist.  She  was  a  very 
expert  musician.  She  drew  from  nature,  and  had  an 
accurate  knowledge  of  perspective.  Finally,  she  mani- 
fested an  early  talent  for  poetry ;  but,  from  pure  modesty, 


SOCIETY    OF   THE    LAKES.  171 

destroyed  most  of  what  she  had  written,  as  soon  as  her 
acquaintance  with  the  Hebrew  models  had  elevated  the 
standard  of  true  poetry  in  her  mind,  so  as  to  disgust  her 
with  what  she  now  viewed  as  the  tameness  and  inetTlcicncy 
of  her  own  performances.  As  to  the  second  point  —  that 
for  these  attainments  she  was  indebted,  almost  exclusively, 
to  her  own  energy  ;  this  is  placed  beyond  all  doubt,  by 
the  fact,  that  the  only  governess  she  ever  had  (a  young 
lady  not  much  beyond  her  own  age)  did  not  herself 
possess,  and  therefore  could  not  have  communicated,  any 
knowledge  of  languages,  beyond  a  little  French  and 
Italian.  Finally,  as  to  the  modesty  with  which  she  wore 
her  distinctions,  that  is  sulFiciently  established  by  every 
page  of  her  printed  works,  and  her  letters.  Greater 
diffidence,  as  respected  herself,  or  less  willingness  to 
obtrude  her  knowledge  upon  strangers,  or  even  upon 
those  correspondents  who  would  have  wished  her  to  make 
a  little  more  display,  cannot  be  imagined.  And  yet  I 
repeat,  that  her  knowledge  was  as  sound  and  as  profound 
as  it  was  extensive.  For,  taking  only  one  instance  of  this, 
her  Translation  of  Job  has  been  pronounced,  by  Biblical 
critics  of  the  first  rank,  a  work  of  rea.1  and  intrinsic  value, 
without  any  reference  to  the  disadvantages  of  the  trans- 
lator, or  without  needing  any  allowances  whatever.  In 
particular,  Dr.  Magee,  the  celebrated  writer  on  the  Atone- 
ment, and  subsequently  a  dignitary  of  the  Irish  Church  — 
certainly  one  of  the  best  qualified  judges  at  that  time  — 
describes  it  as  '  conveying  more  of  the  character  and 
meaning  of  the  Hebrew,  with  fewer  departures  from  the 
idiom  of  the  English,  than  any  other  translation  whatever 
that  we  possess.'  So  much  for  the  scholarship  ;  whilst  he 
rightly  notices,  in  proof  of  the  translator's  taste  and  dis- 
cretion, that  '  from  the  received  version  she  very  seldom 
unnecessarily  deviates  : '  thus  refusing  to  disturb  what  was, 


172  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

generally  speaking,  so  excellent  and  time-hallowed  for 
any  dazzling  effects  of  novelty  ;  and  practising  this  for- 
bearance as  much  as  possible,  notwithstanding  novelty 
was,  after  all,  the  main  attraction  upon  which  the  ne\y 
translation  must  rest. 

The  example  of  her  modesty,  however,  is  not  more 
instructive  than  that  of  her,  continued  struggle  with  diffi- 
culties in  pursuing  knowledge,  and  with  misfortunes  in 
supporting  a  Christian  fortitude.  I  shall  briefly  sketch  her 
story: — She  was  born  at  Burnhall,  in  the  county  of 
Durham,  at  the  latter  end  of  the  year  1776.  Early  in 
1782,  when  she  had  just  entered  her  sixth  year,  her 
parents  removed  into  Suffolk,  in  order  to  be  near  a  blind 
relation,  who  looked  with  anxiety  to  the  conscientious 
attentions  of  Mrs.  Smith,  in  superintending  his  comforts 
and  interests.  This  occupation  absorbed  so  much  of  her 
time,  that  she  found  it  necessary  to  obtain  the  aid  of  a 
stranger  in  directing  the  studies  of  her  daughter.  An 
opportunity  just  then  offered  of  attaining  this  object,  con- 
currently with  another  not  less  interesting  to  herself,  viz., 
that  of  offering  an  asylum  to  a  young  lady  who  had  recently 
been  thrown  adrift  upon  the  world  by  the  misfortunes  of 
her  parents.  They  had  very  suddenly  fallen  from  a  sta- 
tion of  distinguished  prosperity  ;  and  the  young  lady  her- 
self, then  barely  sixteen,  was  treading  that  path  of  severe 
adversity,  upon  which,  by  a  most  singular  parallelism  of 
ill  fortune,  her  young  pupil  was  destined  to  follow  her 
steps  at  exactly  the  same  age.  Being  so  prematurely 
called  to  the  office  of  governess,  this  young  lady  was 
expected  rather  to  act  as  an  elder  companion,  and  as  a 
lightener  of  the  fatigues  attached  to  their  common  studies, 
than  exactly  as  their  directress.  And,  at  all  events,  from 
her  who  was  the  only  even  nominal  governess  that  Miss 
Smith  ever  had,  it  is  certain  that  she  could  have  learned 


SOCIETY    OF    THE    LAKES.  173 

little  or  nothino;.  This  arrangement  subsisted  between 
two  and  three  years,  when  the  death  of  their  blind  kins- 
man allowed  Mr.  Smith's  family  to  leave  Sutlblk,  and 
resume  their  old  domicile  of  Burnhall.  But  from  this,  by 
a  sudden  gleam  of  treacherous  prosperity,  they  were  sum- 
moned, in  the  following  year,  (June,  1785,)  to  the  splen- 
did inheritance  of  Picrcefiold  —  a  show-place  upon  the 
river  Wye;  and,  next  after,  Tintern  Abbey  and  the  river 
itself  —  an  object  of  attraction  to  all  who  then  visited  the 
Wye. 

A  residence  on  the  W'ye,  besides  its  own  natural  attrac- 
tion, has  this  collateral  advantage,  that  it  brings  Bath  (not 
to  mention  Clifton  and  the  Hot  Wells)  within  a  visiting 
distance  for  people  who  happen  to  have  carriages  ;  and 
Bath,  it  is  hardly  necessary  to  say,  besides  its  stationary 
body  of  polished  and  intellectual  residents,  has  also  a 
floating  casual  population  of  eminent  or  interesting  per- 
sons, gathered  into  this  focus  from  every  quarter  of  the 
empire.  Amongst  the  literary  connections  which  the 
Piercefield  family  had  formed  in  Bath,  was  one  with  Mrs, 
Bowdler  and  her  daughter  —  two  ladies  not  distinguished 
by  any  very  powerful  talents,  but  sufficiently  tinctured 
with  literature  and  the  love  of  literature  to  be  liberal  in 
their  opinions.  And,  fortunately,  (as  it  turned  out  for 
Miss  Smith,)  they  were  eminently  religious  :  but  not  in  a 
bigoted  way  ;  for  they  were  conciliating  and  winning  in 
the  outward  expression  of  their  religious  character;  capa- 
ble of  explaining  their  own  creed  with  intelligent  con- 
sistency ;  and,  finally,  were  the  women  to  recommend 
any  creed,  by  the  sanctity  and  the  benignity  of  their  own 
lives.  This  strong  religious  bias  of  the  two  Bath  ladies, 
operated  in  Miss  Smith's  favor  by  a  triple  service.  First 
of  all,  it  was  this  depth  of  religious  feeling,  and,  con- 
sequently, of  interest  in  the  Scriptures,  which  had  origin- 


174  LITERARY    REBIINISCENCES. 

ally  moved  the  elder  Mrs.  Bowdler  to  study  the  Hebrew 
and  the  Greek,  as  the  two  languages  in  which  they  had 
been  originally  .delivered.  And  this  example  it  was  of 
female,-^  triumph  over  their  difficulties,  together  with  the 
proof  thus  given  that  such  attainments  were  entirely 
reconcilable  with  feminine  gentleness,  which  first  sug- 
gested to  Miss  Smith  the  project  of  her  philological 
studies ;  and,  doubtless,  these  studies,  by  the  constant  and 
agreeable  occupation  which  they  afforded,  overspread  the 
whole  field  of  her  life  with  pleasurable  activity.  *  From 
the  above-mentioned  visit,'  says  her  mother,  writing  to 
Dr.  Randolph,  and  referring  to  the  visit  which  these  Bath 
ladies  had  made  to  Pierceficld  —  '  from  the  above-men- 
tioned visit  I  date  the  turn  of  study  which  Elizabeth  ever 
after  pursued,  and  which  I  firmly  believe  the  amiable 
conduct  of  our  guests  first  led  her  to  delight  in.'  Second- 
ly, to  the  religious  sympathies  which  connected  these 
two  ladies  with  Miss  Smith,  was  owing  the  fervor  of 
that  friendship,  which  afterwards,  in  their  adversity,  the 
Piercefield  family  found  more  strenuously  exerted  in  their 
behalf  by  the  Bovvdlers  than  by  all  the  rest  of  their  con- 
nections. And,  finally,  it  was  this  piety  and  religious 
resignation,  with  which  she  had  been  herself  inoculated 
by  her  Bath  friends,  that,  throughout  the  calamitous  era 
of  her  life,  enabled  Miss  Elizabeth  Smith  to  maintain  her 
own  cheerfulness  unbroken,  and  greatly  to  support  the 
failing  fortitude  of  her  mother. 

This  visit  of  her  Bath  friends  to  Piercefield  —  so 
memorable  an  event  for  the  whole  subsequent  life  of  Miss 
Smith — occurred  in  the  summer  of  1789;  consequently, 
when  she  was  just  twelve  and  a  half  years  old.  And  the 
impressions  then  made  upon  her  childish,  but  unusually 
thoughtful,  mind,  were  kept  up  by  continual  communi- 
cations, personal  or  written,  through  the  years  immediately 


SOCIETY    OF    THE    LAKES.  175 

succeeding.  Just  two  and  a  half  years  after,  in  the  very 
month  when  Miss  Smith  accomplished  her  fifteenth  year, 
upon  occasion  of  going  through  the  rite  of  Confirmation, 
according  to  the  discipline  of  the  English  Church,  she 
received  a  letter  of  religious  counsel — grave,  affectionate, 
but  yet  humble  —  from  the  elder  Mrs.  Bowdler,  which 
might  almost  have  been  thought  to  have  proceeded  from  a 
writer  who  had  looked  behind  the  curtain  of  fate,  and  had 
seen  the  forge  at  whose  fires  the  shafts  of  Heaven  were 
even  now  being  forged. 

Just  twelve  months  from  the  date  of  this  letter,  in  the 
very  month  when  Miss  Elizabeth  Smith  completed  her 
sixteenth  year,  the  storm  descended  upon  the  house  of 
Piercefield.  The  whole  estate,  a  splendid  one,  was  swept 
away,  by  the  failure  (as  I  have  heard)  of  one  banking- 
house  ;  nor  was  there  recovered,  until  some  years  after, 
any  slender  fragments  of  that  estate.  Piercefield  was,  of 
course,  sold  :  but  that  was  not  the  heaviest  of  her 
grievances  to  Miss  Smith.  She  was  now  far  advanced 
upon  her  studious  career ;  for  it  should  be  mentioned,  as 
a  lesson  to  other  young  ladies  of  what  may  be  accom- 
plished by  unassisted  labor,  that,  between  the  ages  of 
thirteen  and  twenty-one,  all  •  her  principal  acquisitions 
.were  made.  ■  No  treasure,  therefore,  could,  in  her  eyes, 
be  of  such  priceless  value  as  the  Piercefield  library ;  but 
this  also  followed  the  general  wreck  :  not  a  volume,  not  a 
pamphlet,  was  reserved  ;  for  the  family  were  proud  in 
their  integrity,  and  would  receive  no  favors  from  the 
creditors.  Under  this  scorching  test,  applied  to  the 
fidelity  of  friends,  many,  whom  Mrs.  Smith  mentions  in 
one  of  her  letters  under  the  name  of  '  summer  friends,' 
fled  from  them  by  crowds:  dipners,  balls,  soirees  — 
credit,  influence,  support  —  these  things  were  no  longer 
to  be  had  from  Piercefield.     But  more  annoying  even 


176  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

than  the  fickle  levity  of  such  open  deserters,  was  the 
timid  and  doubtful  countenance,  as  I  have  heard  Mrs. 
Smith  say,  which  was  still  ofiered  to  them  by  some  who 
did  not  relish,  for  their  oion  sokes,  being  classed *with 
those  who  had  paid  their  homage  only  to  the  fine  house 
and  fine  equipages  of  Piercefield.  These  persons  con- 
tinued, therefore,  to  send  invitations  to  the  family ;  but  so 
frigidly,  that  every  expression  manifested  but  too  forcibly 
how  disagreeable  was  the  duty  with  which  they  were 
complying ;  and  how  much  more  they  submitted  to  it  for 
their  own  reputation's  sake,  than  for  any  kindness  they 
felt  to  their  old  friends.  Mrs.  Smith  was  herself  a  very 
haughty  woman,  and  it  maddened  her  to  be  the  object  of 
condescensions  so  insolent  and  so  reluctant. 

Meantime,  her  daughter,  young  as  she  was,  became  the 
moral  support  of  her  whole  family,  and  the  fountain  from 
which  they  all  drew  consolation  and  fortitude.  She  was 
confirmed  in  her  religious  tendencies  by  two  circumstances 
of  her  recent  experience  :  one  was,  that  she,  the  sole  per- 
son of  her  family  who  courted  religious  consolations,  was 
also  the  sole  person  who  had  been  able  to  maintain  cheer- 
fulness and  uniform  spirits  :  the  other  was,  that  although 
it  could  not  be  truly  said  of  all  their  worldly  friends  that 
they  had  forsaken  them,  yet,  of  their  religious  friends  it 
could  be  said,  not  one  had  done  so  ;  and  at  last,  when  for 
some  time  they  had  been  so  far  reduced  as  not  to  have  a 
roof  over  their  heads,  by  one  of  these  religious  friends  it 
was  that  they  were  furnished  with  every  luxury  as  well  as 
comfort  of  life  ;  and,  in  a  spirit  of  such  sisterly  kindness, 
as  made  the  obligation  not  painful  to  the  proudest  amongst 
them. 

It  was  in  1792  that  the  Piercefield  family  had  been 
ruined  ;  and  in  1794,  out  of  the  wrecks  which  had  b^en 
gathered  together,  Mr.  Smith  (the  father  of  the  family) 


SOCIETY  OF  THE  LAKES.  177 

bought  a  commission  in  the  army.  For  some  time  the 
family  coiitinuccl  to  live  in  London,  Bath,  and  othez* 
parts  of  England  ;  but,  at  length,  Mr.  Smith's  regiment 
was  ordered  to  the  west  of  Ireland  ;  and  the  ladies  of  his 
family  resolved  to  accompany  him  to  head-quarters.  In 
passing  through  Wales,  (May,  1796,)  they  paid  a  visit  to 
those  sentimental  anchorites  of  the  last  generation,  whom 
so  many  of  us  must  still  remember  —  Miss  Ponsonby,and 
Lady  Eleanor  Butler,  (a  sister  of  Lord  Ormond,)  whose 
hermitage  stood  near  to  Llangollen,  and,  therefore,  close 
to  the  usual  Irish  route,  by  way  of  Holyhead.  On  landing  in 
Ireland,  they  proceeded  to  a  seat  of  Lord  Kingston  —  a 
kind-hearted,  hospitable  Irishman,  who  was  on  the  old 
Piercefield  list  of  friends,  and  had  never  wavered  in  his 
attachment.  Here  they  stayed  three  weeks.  Miss  Smith 
renewed,  on  this  occasion,  her  friendship  with  Lady 
Isabella  King,  the  daughter  of  Lord  Kingston  ;  and  a 
little  incident  connected  with  this  visit,  gave  her  an  oppor- 
tunity afterwards  of  showing  her  delicate  sense  of  the 
sacred  character  which  attaches  to  gifts  of  friendship,  and 
showing  it  by  an  ingenious  device,  that  may  be  worth  the 
notice  of  other  young  ladies  in  the  same  case.  Lady 
Isabella  had  given  to  Miss  Smith  a  beautiful  horse,  calle 
Brunette.  In  process  of  time,  when  they  had  ceased  to  be 
in  the  neighborhood  of  any  regimental  stables,  it  became 
matter  of  necessity  that  Brunette  should  be  parted  with. 
To  have  given  the  animal  away,  had  that  been  otherwise 
possible,  might  only  have  been  delaying  the  sale  for  a 
short  time.  After  some  demur,  therefore,  Miss  Smith 
adopted  this  plan :  she  sold  Brunette,  but  applied  the 
whole  of  the  price,  120  guineas,  to  the  purchase  of  a 
splendid  harp.  The  harp  was  christened  Brunette,  and 
was  religiously  preserved  to  the  end  of  her  life.  Now 
Brunette,  after  all,  must  have  died  in  a  few  years ;  but, 
VOL.  II.  12 


178  LITERARY     REMINISCENCES. 

by  translating  lier  friend's  gift  into  another  form,  she  not 
only  connected  the  image  of  her  distant  friend,  and  her 
sense  of  that  friend's  kindness,  with  a  pleasure  and  a  use- 
ful purpose  of  her  own,  but  she  conferred  on  that  gift  a 
perpetuity  of  existence. 

At  length  came  the  day  when  the  Smiths  were  to  quit 
Kingston  Lodge  for  the  quarters  of  the  regiment.  And 
now  came  the  first  rude  trial  of  Mrs.  Smith's  fortitude,  as 
connected  with  points  of  mere  decent  comfort.  Hitherto, 
floating  amongst  the  luxurious  habitations  of  opulent 
friends,  she  might  have  felt  many  privations  as  regarded 
splendor  and  direct  personal  power,  but  never  as  regarded 
the  primary  elements  of  comfort,  warmth,  cleanliness, 
convenient  arrangements.  But  on  this  journey,  which 
was  performed  by  all  the  party  on  horseback,  it  rained 
incessantly.  They  reached  their  quarters  drenched  with 
wet,  weary,  hungry,  forlorn.  The  quartermaster  had 
neglected  to  give  any  directions  for  their  suitable  accom- 
modation—  no  preparations  whatever  had  been  made  for 
receiving  them  ;  and,  from  the  luxuries  of  Lord  King- 
ston's mansion,  which  habit  had  made  so  familiar  to  them 
all,  the  ladies  found  themselves  suddenly  transferred  to  a 
miserable  Irish  cabin  —  dirty,  narrow,  nearly  quite  unfur- 
nished, and  thoroughly  disconsolate.  Mrs.  Smith's  proud 
spirit  fairly  gave  way,  and  she  burst  out  into  a  fit  of 
weeping.  Upon  this,  her  daughter,  Elizabeth,  [and  Mrs. 
Smith  herself  it  was  that  told  the  anecdote,  and  often  she 
told  it,  or  told  others  of  the  same  character,  at  Lloyd's,] 
in  a  gentle,  soothing  tone,  began  to  suggest  the  many 
blessings  which  lay  before  them  in  life,  and  some  even  for 
this  evening. 

'  Blessings,  child  ! '  —  her  mother  impatiently  interrupted 
her.  '  What  sort  of  blessings  ?  Irish  blessings  !  — county 
of  Sligo  blessings,  I  fancy.     Or,  perhaps,  you  call  this  a 


SOCIETY  OF  THE  LAKES.  179 

blessing?'  holding  up  a  miserable  fragnnent  of  an  iron 
rod,  which  had  been  left  by  way  of  poker,  or  rather  as  a 
substitute  for  the  whole  assortment  of  fire-irons.  The 
daughter  laughed  ;  but  she  changed  her  wet  dress  expedi- 
tiously, assumed  an  apron ;  and  so  various  were  her 
accornplisiiments,  that,  in  no  long  time,  she  had  gathered 
together  a  very  comfortable  dinner  for  her  parents,  and, 
amongst  other  things,  a  currant  tart,  which  she  had  herself 
made,  in  a  tenement  absolutely  unfurnished  of  every 
kitchen  utensil. 

In  the  autumn  of  this  year,  (1796,)  they  returned  to 
England  ;  and,  after  various  migrations  through  the  next 
four  years,  amongst  which  was  another  and  longer  visit  to 
Ireland,  in  1800,  they  took  up  their  abode  in  the  seques- 
tered vale  of  Patterdale.  Here  they  had  a  cottage  upon 
the  banks  of  Ulleswater;  the  most  gorgeous  of  the 
English  lakes,  from  the  rich  and  ancient  woods  which 
possess  a  great  part  of  its  western  side  ;  the  sublimest,  as 
respects  its  mountain  accompaniments,  except  only,  per- 
haps, Wastdale  ;  and,  I  believe,  the  largest;  for,  though 
only  nine  miles  in  length,  and,  therefore,  shorter  by  about 
two  miles  than  Windermere,  it  averages  a  greater  breadth. 
Here,  at  this  time,  was  living  Mr.  Clarkson  —  that  son  of 
thunder,  that  Titan,  who  was  in  fact  that  one  great  Atlas 
that  bore  up  the  Slave-Trade  abolition  cause  —  now  rest- 
ing from  his  mighty  labors  and  nerve-shattering  perils. 
So  much  liad  his  nerves  been  shattered  by  all  that  he  had 
gone  through  in  toil,  in  suffering,  and  in  anxiety,  that,  for 
many  years,  I  have  heard  it  said,  he  found  himself  unable 
to  walk  up  stairs  without  tremulous  motions  of  his  limbs. 
He  was,  perhaps,  too  iron  a  man,  too  much  like  the  Talus 
of  Spenser's  '  Faerie  Queene,'  to  appreciate  so  gentle  a 
creature  as  Miss  Elizabeth  Smith.  A  more  suitable 
friend,  and  one  who  thoroughly  comprehended  her,  and 


180  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

expressed  his  admiration  for  her  in  verse,  was  Thomas 
Wilkinson  of  Yanwalh,  a  Quaker,  a  man  of  taste,  and  of 
delicate  sensibility.  He  wrote  verses  occasionally  ;  and 
though  feebly  enough  as  respected  poetic  power,  there 
were  often  such  delicate  touches  of  feeling,  such  gleams 
of  real  tenderness,  in  some  redeeming  part  of  each  poem, 
that  even  Wordsworth  admired  and  read  them  aloud  with 
pleasure.  Indeed  Wordsworth  has  addressed  to  him  one 
copy  of  verses,  or  rather  to  his  spade,  which  was  printed 
in  the  collection  of  1807,  and  which  Lord  Jeffrey,  after 
quoting  one  line,  dismissed  as  too  dull  for  repetition. 

During  this  residence  upon  Ulleswater  (winter  of  1800) 
it  was,  that  a  very  remarkable  incident  befell  Miss  Smith. 
I  have  heard  it  often  mentioned,  and  sometimes  with  a 
slight  variety  of  circumstances  ;  but  I  here  repeat  it  from 
an  account  drawn  up  by  Miss  Smith  herself,  who  was 
most  literally  exact  and  faithful  to  the  truth  in  all  reports 
of  her  own  personal  experience.  There  is,  on  the  west- 
ern side  of  Ulleswater,  a  fine  cataract,  (or,  in  the  language 
of  the  country,  a  force,)  known  by  the  name  of  Airey 
Force  ;  and  it  is  of  importance  enough,  especially  in  rainy 
seasons,  to  attract  numerous  visiters  from  among  '  the 
Lakers.'  Thither,  with  some  purpose  of  sketching,  not 
the  whole  scene,  but  some  picturesque  features  of  it,  Miss 
Smith  had  gone,  quite  unaccompanied.  The  road  to  it 
lies  through  Gobarrow  Park  ;  and  it  was  usual,  at  that 
time,  to  take  a  guide  from  the  family  of  the  Duke  of 
Norfolk's  keeper,  who  lived  in  Lyulph's  Tower  —  a  soli- 
tary hunting  lodge,  built  by  his  Grace  for  the  purposes  of 
an  annual  visit  which  he  used  to  pay  to  his  estates  in  that 
part  of  England.  She,  however,  thinking  herself  suffi- 
ciently familiar  with  the  localities,  had  declined  to  encum- 
ber her  motions  with  such  an  attendant ;  consequently  she 
was  alone.     For  half  an  hour  or  more,  she  continued  to 


SOCIETY  OF  THE  LAKES.  181 

ascend  :  and,  being  a  good  '  cragswoman,'  from  the  expe- 
rience she  had  won  in  Wales  as  well  as  in  northern  Eng- 
land, slie  had  reached  an  altitude  much  beyond  what 
would  generally  be  thought  corresponding  to  the  time. 
The  path  had  vanished  altogether ;  but  she  continued  to 
pick  out  one  for  herself  amongst  the  stones,  sometimes 
receding  from  the  force,  sometimes  approaching  it,  ac- 
cording to  the  openings  allowed  by  the  scattered  masses 
of  rock.  Pressing  forward  in  this  hurried  way,  and  never 
looking  back,  all  at  once  she  found  herself  in  a  little  stony 
chamber,  from  which  there  was  no  egress  possible  in 
advance.  She  stopped  and  looked  up.  There  was  a 
frightful  silence  in  the  air.  She  felt  a  sudden  palpitation 
at  her  heart,  and  a  panic  from  she  knew  not  what.  Turn- 
ing, however,  hastily,  she  soon  wound  herself  out  of  this 
aerial  dungeon  ;  but  by  steps  so  rapid  and  agitated,  that, 
at  length,  on  looking  round,  she  found  herself  standing  at 
the  brink  of  a  chasm,  frightful  to  look  down.  That  way, 
it  was  clear  enough,  all  retreat  was  impossible  ;  but,  on 
turning  round,  retreat  seemed  in  every  direction  alike 
even  moi'e  impossible.  Down  the  chasm,  at  least,  she 
might  have  leaped,  though  with  little  or  no  chance  of 
escaping  with  life  ;  but  on  all  other  quarters  it  seemed  to 
her  eye  that,  at  no  price,  could  she  efiect  an  exit,  since 
the  rocks  stood  round  her,  in  a  semicircus,  all  lofty,  all 
perpendicular,  all  glazed  with  trickling  water,  or  smooth 
as  polished  porphyry.  Yet  how,  then,  had  she  reached 
the  point  >  The  same  track,  if  she  could  hit  that  track, 
would  surely  secure  her  escape.  Round  and  round  she 
walked  ;  gazed  with  almost  despairing  eyes ;  her  breath 
came  thicker  and  thicker ;  for  path  she  could  not  trace  by 
which  it  was  possible  for  her  to  have  entered.  Finding 
herself  grow  more  and  more  confused,  and  every  instant 
nearer  to  sinking  into  some  fainting  fit  or  convulsion,  she 


182  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

resolved  to  sit  down  and  turn  her  thoughts  quietly  into 
some  less  exciting  channel.  This  she  did  ;  gradually  re- 
covered some  self-possession  ;  and  then  suddenly  a  thought 
rose  up  to  her,  that  she  was  in  the  hands  of  God,  and  that 
he  would  not  forsake  her.  But  immediately  came  a 
second  and  reproving  thought  —  that  this  confidence  in 
God's  protection  might  have  been  justified  had  she  been 
ascending  the  rocks  upon  any  mission  of  duty  ;  but  what 
right  could  she  have  to  any  providential  deliverance,  who 
had  been  led  thither  in  a  spirit  of  levity  and  carelessness .? 
I  am  here  giving  her  view  of  the  case ;  for,  as  to  myself, 
I  fear  greatly,  that  if  her  steps  were  erring  ones,  it  is  but 
seldom  indeed  that  nous  autres  can  pretend  to  be  treading 
upon  right  paths.  Once  again  she  rose  !  and,  supporting 
herself  upon  a  little  sketching-stool  that  folded  up  into  a 
stick,  she  looked  upwards,  in  the  hope  that  some  shepherd 
might,  by  chance,  be  wandering  in  those  aerial  regions  ; 
but  nothing  could  she  see  except  the  tall  birches  growing 
at  the  brink  of  the  highest  summits,  and  the  clouds  slowly 
sailing  overhead.  Suddenly,  however,  as  she  swept  the 
whole  circuit  of  her  station  with  her  alarmed  eye,  she  saw 
clearly,  about  two  hundred  yards  beyond  her  own  position, 
a  lady,  in  a  white  muslin  morning  robe,  such  as  were  then 
universally  worn  by  young  ladies  until  dinner-time.  The 
lady  beckoned  with  a  gesture  and  in  a  manner  that,  in  a 
moment,  gave  her  confidence  to  advance  —  hoio  she  could 
not  guess,  but  in  some  way  that  baffled  all  power  to  re- 
trace it,  she  found  instantaneously  the  outlet  which  pre- 
viously had  escaped  her.  She  continued  to  advance 
towards  the  lady,  whom  now,  in  the  same  moment,  she 
found  to  be  standing  upon  the  other  side  of  i\\e  force,  and 
also  to  be  her  own  sister.  How  or  why  that  young  lady, 
whom  she  had  left  at  home  earnestly  occupied  with  her 
own   studies,  should    have    followed   and  overtaken  her, 


SOCIETY    OF    THE    LAKES.  183 

filled  her  with  perplexity.  But  this  was  no  situation  for 
putting  questions;  for  the  guiding  sister  began  to  descend, 
and,  by  a  few  simple  gestures,  just  serving  to  indicate 
when  Miss  Elizabeth  was  to  approach  and  when  to  leave 
the  brink  of  the  torrent,  she  gradually  led  her  down  to  a 
platform  of  rock,  from  which  the  further  descent  was  safe 
and  conspicuous.  There  Miss  Smith  paused,  in  order  to 
take  breath  from  her  panic,  as  well  as  to  exchange  greet- 
ings and  questions  with  her  sister.  But  sister  there  was 
none.  All  trace  of  her  had  vanished  ;  and  when,  in  two 
hours  after,  she  reached  her  home,  Miss  Smith  found  her 
sister  in  the  same  situation  and  employment  in  which  she 
had  left  her ;  and  the  whole  family  assured  her  that  she 
had  never  stirred  from  the  house. 

In  1801,  I  believe  it  was  that  the  family  removed  from 
Patterdale  to  Coniston.  Certainly  they  were  settled  there 
in  the  spring  of  1802  ;  for,  in  the  May  of  that  spring,  Miss 
Elizabeth  Hamilton  —  a  writer  now  very  much  forgotten, 
or  remembered  only  by  her  '  Cottagers  of  Glenburnie,' 
but  then  a  person  of  mark  and  authority  in  the  literary 
circles  of  Edinburgh  —  paid  a  visit  to  the  Lakes,  and 
stayed  there  for  many  months,  together  with  her  married 
sister,  Mrs.  Blake ;  and  both  ladies  cultivated  the  friend- 
ship of  the  Smiths.  Miss  Hamilton  was  captivated  with  the 
family  ;  and,  of  the  sisters  in  particular,  she  speaks  as  of 
persons  that,  '  in  the  days  of  paganism,  would  have  been 
worshipped  as  beings  of  a  superior  order,  so  elegantly 
graceful  do  they  appear,  when,  with  easy  motion,  they 
guide  their  light  boat  over  the  waves.'  And  of  Miss  Eliza- 
beth, separately,  she  says,  on  another  occasion,  — '  I  never 
before  saw  so  much  of  Miss  Smith  ;  and,  in  the  three  days 
she  spent  with  us,  the  admiration  which  I  had  always  felt 
for  her  extraordinary  talents,  and  as  extraordinary  virtues, 
was  hourly  augmented.     She  is,  indeed,  a  most  charming 


184  LITERARY   REMINISCENCES. 

creature;  and,  if  one  could  inoculate  her  with  a  little  of 
the  Scotch  frankness,  I  think  she  would  be  one  of  the  most 
perfect  of  human  beings,' 

About  four  years  had  been  delightfully  passed  in 
Coniston.  In  the  summer  of  1805,  Miss  Smith  laid  the 
foundation  of  her  fatal  illness  in  the  following  way,  accord- 
ing to  her  own  account  of  the  case,  to  an  old  servant,  a 
very  short  time  before  she  died  :  — '  One  very  hot  evening, 
in  July,  I  took  a  book,  and  walked  about  two  miles  from 
home,  when  I  seated  myself  on  a  stone  beside  the  lake. 
Being  much  engaged  by  a  poem  I  was  reading,  I  did  not 
perceive  that  the  sun  was  gone  down,  and  was  succeeded 
by  a  very  heavy  dew,  till,  in  a  moment,  I  felt  struck  on  the 
chest  as  if  with  a  sharp  knife.  I  returned  home,  but  said 
nothing  of  the  pain.  The  next  day,  being  also  very  hot, 
and  every  one  busy  in  the  hay-field,  I  thought  I  would  take 
a  rake,  and  work  very  hard  to  produce  perspiration,  in  the 
hope  that  it  might  remove  the  pain  ;  but  it  did  not.'  From 
that  time,  a  bad  cough,  with  occasional  loss  of  voice,  gave 
reason  to  suspect  some  organic  injury  of  the  lungs.  Late 
in  the  autumn  of  this  year,  (1805,)  Miss  Smith  accom- 
panied her  mother  and  her  two  younger  sisters  to  Bristol, 
Bath,  and  other  places  in  the  south,  on  visits  to  various 
friends.  Her  health  went  through  various  fluctuations  until 
May  of  the  following  year,  when  she  was  advised  to  try 
Matlock.  Here,  after  spending  thi'ee  weeks,  she  grew 
worse;  and,  as  there  was  no  place  which  she  liked  so  well 
as  the  Lakes,  it  was  resolved  to  turn  homewards.  About 
the  beginning  of  June,  she  and  her  mother  returned  alone 
to  Coniston :  one  of  her  sisters  was  now  married  ;  her 
three  brothers  were  in  the  army  or  navy  ;  and  her  father 
almost  constantly  with  his  regiment.  Through  the  next  two 
months  she  faded  quietly  away,  sitting  always  in  a  tent,* 

*  And,  ia  allusion  to  this  circumstance,  the  house  afterwards  raised 


SOCIETY    OF    THE    LAKES.  185 

that  had  been  pitched  upon  the  lawn,  and  which  remained 
open  continually  to  receive  the  fanning  of  the  intermitting 
airs  upon  the  lake,  as  well  as  to  admit  the  bold  mountain 
scenery  to  the  north.  She  lived  nearly  through  the  first 
week  of  August,  dying  on  the  morning  of  August  7;  and 
the  circumstances  of  her  last  night  are  thus  recorded  by 
her  mother:  —  *At  nine  she  went  to  bed.  I  resolved  to 
quit  her  no  more,  and  went  to  prepare  for  the  night. 
Turpin  [Miss  Smith's  maid]  came  to  say  that  Elizabeth 
entreated  I  would  not  stay  in  her  room.  I  replied  — "  Oa 
that  one  subject  I  am  resolved  ;  no  power  on  earth  shall 
keep  me  from  her  ;  so,  go  to  bed  yourself."  Accordingly, 
I  returned  to  her  room  ;  and,  at  ten,  gave  her  the  usual 
dose  of  laudanum.  After  a  little  time,  she  fell  into  a  doze, 
and,  I  thought,  slept  till  one.  She  was  uneasy  and  restless, 
but  never  complained  ;  and,  on  my  wiping  the  cold  sweat 
off  her  face,  and  bathing  it  with  camphorated  vinegar, 
which  I  did  very  often  in  the  course  of  the  night,  she 
thanked  me,  smiled,  and  said  —  "That  is  the  greatest 
comfort  I  have."  She  slept  again  for  a  short  time  ;  and, 
at  half  past  four,  asked  for  some  chicken  broth,  which  she 
took  perfectly  well.  On  being  told  the  hour,  she  said, 
"  Hoio  long  this  night  is  !  "  She  continued  very  uneasy ; 
and,  in  half  an  hour  after,  and  on  my  inquiring  if  I  could 
move  the  pillow,  or  do  anything  to  relieve  her,  she  replied, 
"  There  is  nothing  for  it  but  quiet."  At  six  she  said, 
"  I  must  get  up,  and  have  some  mint  tea."  I  then  called 
for  Turpin,  and  felt  my  angel's  pulse  :  it  was  fluttering ; 
and  by  that  I  knew  I  should  soon  lose  her.  She  took  the 
tea  well.  Turpin  began  to  put  on  her  clothes,  and  was 
proceeding  to  dress  her,  when  she  laid  her  head  upon  the 


on  a  neighboring  spot,  at  this  lime  suggested  by  Miss  Smith,  received 
the  name  of  Tent  Lodge. 


186  LITERARY   HEMINISCENCES. 

faithful  creature's  shoulder,  became  convulsed  in  the  face, 
spoke  not,  looked  not,  and  in  ten  minutes  expired.' 

She  was  buried  in  Hawkshead  churchyard,  where  a 
small  tablet  of  white  marble  is  raised  to  her  memory,  on 
which  there  is  the  scantiest  record  that,  for  a  person  so 
eminently  accomplished,  I  have  ever  met  with.  After 
mentioning  her  birth  and  age,  (twenty-nine,)  it  closes 
thus  :  — '  She  possessed  great  talents,  exalted  virtues,  and 
humble  piety.'  Anything  so  unsatisfactory  or  so  com- 
monplace I  have  rarely  known.  As  much,  or  more,  is 
often  said  of  the  most  insipid  people;  whereas  Miss  Smith 
was  really  a  most  extraordinary  person.  I  have  conversed 
with  Mrs.  Hannah  More  often  about  her ;  and  I  never  failed 
to  draw  forth  some  fresh  anecdote  illustrating  the  vast  ex- 
tent of  her  knowledge,  the  simplicity  of  her  character, 
the  gentleness  of  her  manners,  and  her  unaffected  humility. 
She  passed,  it  is  true,  almost  inaudibly  through  life ;  and 
the  stir  which  was  made  after  her  death  soon  subsided. 
But  the  reason  was  —  that  she  wrote  but  little  !  Had  it 
been  possible  for  the  world  to  measure  her  by  her  powers, 
rather  than  her  performances,  she  would  have  been  placed, 
perhaps,  in  the  estimate  of  posterity,  at  the  head  of  learned 
women  ;  whilst  her  sweet  and  feminine  character  would 
have  rescued  her  from  all  shadow  and  suspicion  of  that 
reproach  which  too  often  settles  upon  the  learned  character, 
when  supported  by  female  aspirants. 

The  family  of  Tent  Lodge  continued  to  reside  at 
Coniston  for  many  years ;  and  they  were  connected  with 
the  Lake  literary  clan  chiefly  through  the  Lloyds  and  those 
who  visited  the  Lloyds  ;  for  it  is  another  and  striking  proof 
of  the  slight  hold  which  Wordsworth,  &c.,  had  upon  the 
public  esteem  in  those  days,  that  even  Miss  Smith,  with 
all  her  excessive  diflidence  in  judging  of  books  and 
authors,  never  seems,  by  any  one  of  her  letters,  to  have 


SOCIETY  OF  THE  LAKES.  187 

felt  the  least  interest  about  Wordsworth  or  Coleridge ; 
nor  did  Miss  Hamilton,  with  all  her  esprit  de  corps  and  ac- 
quired interest  in  everything  at  all  bearing  upon  literature, 
ever  mention  them  in  those  of  her  letters  which  belong  to 
the  period  of  her  Lake  visit  in  1602 ;  nor,  for  the  six  or 
seven  months  which  she  passed  in  that  country,  and  within 
a  short  morning  ride  of  Grasmere,  did  she  ever  think  it 
worth  her  while  to  seek  an  introduction  to  any  one  of  the 
resident  authors. 

Yet  this  could  not  be  altogether  from  ignorance  that 
such  people  existed  ;  for  Thomas  Wilkinson,  the  intimate 
and  admiring  friend  of  Miss  Smith,  was  also  the  friend  of 
Wordsworth  ;  and,  for  some  reason  that  I  never  could 
fathom,  he  was  a  sort  of  pet  with  Wordsworth.  Professor 
Wilson  or  myself  were  never  honored  with  one  line,  one 
allusion,  from  his  pen  ;  but  many  a  person,  of  particular 
feebleness,  has  received  that  honor.  Amongst  these  I 
may  rank  Thomas  Wilkinson  ;  not  that  I  wish  to  speak 
contemptuously  of  him  :  he  was  a  Quaker,  of  elegant 
habits,  rustic  simplicity,  and  with  tastes,  as  Wordsworth 
affirms,  '  too  pure  to  be  refined.'  His  cottage  was  seated 
not  far  from  the  great  castle  of  the  Lowthers  ;  and,  either 
from  mere  whim  —  as  sometimes  such  whims  do  possess 
great  ladies  —  whims,  I  mean,  for  drawing  about  them 
odd-looking,  old-world  people,  as  piquant  contrasts  to  the 
fine  gentlemen  of  their  own  society,  or  because  they 
did  really  feel  a  homely  dignity  in  the  plain-speaking 
'  Friend,'  and  liked,  for  a  frolic,  to  be  thou'd  and  thee'd  — 
or  some  motive  or  other,  at  any  rate,  they  introduced 
themselves  to  Mr.  Wilkinson's  cottage ;  and  I  believe  that 
the  connection  was  afterwards  improved  by  the  use  they 
found  for  his  services  in  forming  walks  through  the  woods 
of  Lowther,  and  leading  them  in  such  a  circuit  as  to  take 
advantage  of  all  the  most  picturesquQ  stations.    As  a  poet, 


188  LITERARY   REMINISCENCES. 

I  presume  that  Mr.  Wilkinson  could  hardly  have  recom- 
mended himself  to  the  notice  of  ladies  who  would  naturally 
have  modelled  their  tastes  upon  the  favorites  of  the  age.  A 
poet,  however,  in  a  gentle,  unassuming  way,  he  was ;  and 
he,  therefore,  is  to  be  added  to  the  corps  litteraire  of  the 
Lakes  ;  and  Yanwath  to  be  put  down  as  the  advanced  post 
of  that  corps  to  the  north. 

Two  families  there  still  remain,  which  I  am  tempted  to 
gather  into  my  group  of  Lake  society  —  notwithstanding 
it  is  true  that  the  two  most  interesting  members  of  the  first 
had  died  a  little  before  the  period  at  which  my  sketch 
commences;  and  the  second,  though  highly  intellectual  in 
the  person  of  that  particular  member  whom  I  have  chiefly 
to  commemorate,  was  not,  properly  speaking,  literary ; 
and,  moreover,  belongs  to  a  later  period  of  my  own 
Westmoreland  experience  —  being,  at  the  time  of  my  set- 
tlement in  Grasmere,  a  girl  at  a  boarding-school.  The 
first  was  the  family  of  the  Sympsons,  whom  ]\Ir.  Words- 
worth has  spoken  of,  with  deep  interest,  more  than  once. 
The  eldest  son,  a  clergyman,  and,  like  Wordsworth,  an 
alutnnus  of  Hawkshead  school,  wrote,  amongst  other 
poems,  '  The  Vision  of  Alfred.'  Of  these  poems,  Words- 
worth says,  that  they  '  are  little  known ;  but  they  contain 
passages  of  splendid  description ;  and  the  versification  of 
his  "  Visio7i''''  is  harmonious  and  animated.'  This  is  much 
for  Wordsworth  to  say;  and  he  does  him  even  the  honor  of 
quoting  the  following  illustrative  simile  from  his  description 
of  the  sylphs  in  motion,  (which  sylphs  constitute  the  ma- 
chinery of  his  poem;)  and,  probably,  the  reader  will  be 
of  opinion  that  this  passage  justifies  the  praise  of  Words- 
worth. It  is  founded,  as  he  will  see,  on  the  splendid 
scenery  of  the  heavens  in  Polar  latitudes,  as  seen  by 
reflection  in  polished  ice  at  midnight. 


SOCIETY    OF    THE    LAKES.  189 

*  Less  varying  hues  beneath  the  Pole  adorn 
The  streamy  glories  of  the  Boreal  morn. 
That,  waving  to  and  fro,  their  radiance  shed 
On  Bothnia's  gulf,  with  glassy  ice  o'erspread  ; 
Where  the  lone  native,  as  he  homeward  glides. 
On  polished  sandals  o'er  the  imprisoned  tides. 
Sees,  at  a  glance,  above  him  and  below, 
Two  rival  heavens  with  equal  splendor  glow  ; 
Stars,  moons,  and  meteors,  ray  oppose  to  ray  ; 
And  solemn  midnight  pours  the  blaze  of  day.' 

'  He  was  a  man,'  says  Wordsworth,  in  conclusion,  '  of 
ardent  feeling ;  and  his  faculties  of  mind,  particularly  his 
memory,  were  extraordinary.'  Brief  notices  of  his  life 
ought  to  find  a  place  in  the  history  of  Westmoreland. 

But  it  was  the  father  of  this  Joseph  Sympson  who  gave 
its  chief  interest  to  the  family.  Him  Wordsworth  has 
described,  at  the  same  time  sketching  his  history,  with 
a  fulness  and  a  circumstantiality  beyond  what  he  has 
conceded  to  any  other  of  the  real  personages  in  '  The 
Excursion.'  '  A  priest  he  was  by  function  ; '  but  a  priest 
of  that  class  which  is  now  annually  growing  nearer  to 
extinction  among  us,  not  being  supported  by  any  sympa- 
thies in  this  age. 

'  His  course. 
From  his  youth  up,  and  high  as  manhood's  noon. 
Had  been  irregular  —  I  might  say  wild  ; 
By  books  unsteadied,  by  his  pastoral  care 
Too  little  check'd.     An  active,  ardent  mind  ; 
A  fancy  pregnant  with  resouixe  and  scheme 
To  cheat  the  sadness  of  a  rainy  day  ; 
Hands  apt  for  all  ingenious  arts  and  games ; 
A* generous  spirit,  and  a  body  strong. 
To  cope  with  stoutest  champions  of  the  bowl  — 
Had  earned  for  him  sure  welcome,  and  the  rights 
,  Of  a  priz'd  visitant  in  the  jolly  hall 
Of  country  squire,  or  at  the  statelier  board 


190  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

Of  Duke  or  Earl  —  from  scenes  of  courtly  pomp 
Withdrawn,  to  Avhile  away  the  summer  hours 
In  condescension  amongst  rural  guests. 
With  these  high  comrades  he  had  revelled  long, 
By  hopes  of  coming  patronage  beguiled, 
Till  the  heart  sicken'd.' 

Slowly,  however,  and  indignantly  his  eyes  opened  fully 
to  the  windy  treachery  of  all  the  promises  held  out  to 
him  ;  and,  at  length,  for  mere  bread,  he  accepted,  from 
an  '  unthought-of  patron,'  a  most  '  secluded  chapelry  ' 
in  Cumberland.  This  was  '  the  little,  lowly  house  of 
prayer'  of  Wythburn,  elsewhere  celebrated  by  Words- 
worth ;  and,  for  its  own  sake,  interesting  to  all  travellers, 
both  for  its  deep  privacy,  and  for  the  excessive  humility 
of  its  external  pretensions,  whether  as  to  size  or  orna- 
ment. Were  it  not  for  its  twin  sister  at  Buttermere,  it 
would  be  the  very  smallest  place  of  worship  in  all 
England  ;  and  it  looks  even  smaller  than  it  is,  from  its 
poshion  ;  for  it  stands  at  the  base  of  the  mighty  Hel- 
vellyn,  close  to  the  high-road  between  Ambleside  and 
Keswick,  and  within  speaking  distance  of  the  upper  lake 
—  (for  Wythburn  Water,  though  usually  passed  by  the 
traveller  under  the  impression  of  absolute  unity  in  its 
waters,  owing  to  the  interposition  of  a  rocky  screen,  is,  in 
fact,  composed  of  two  separate  lakes.)  To  this  minia- 
ture and  most  secluded  congregation  of  shepherds,  did 
the  once  dazzling  parson  officiate  as  pastor;  and  it  seems 
to  amplify  the  impression  already  given  of  his  versatility, 
that  he  became  a  diligent  and  most  fatherly,  though  not 
peculiarly  devout  teacher  and  friend.  The  temper, 
however,  of  the  northern  Dalesmen,  is  not  constitu- 
tionally turned  to  religion  ;  consequently  that  part  of  his 
defects  did  him  no  especial  injury,  when  compensated 
(as,   in   the  judgment  of  these  Dalesman,  it  was  com- 


SOCIETY    OF    THE    LAKES.  191 

pensated)  by  ready  and  active  kindness,  charity  the  most 
diffusive,  and  patriarchal  hospitality.  The  living,  as  I 
have  said,  was  in  Wythburn  ;  but  there  was  no  parsonage, 
and  no  house  in  this  poor  dale  which  was  disposable  for 
that  purpose.  So  Mr.  Sympson  crossed  the  marches  of 
the  sister  counties,  which  to  him  was  about  equidistant 
from  his  chapel  and  his  house,  into  Grasmere,  on  the 
Westmoreland  side.  There  he  occupied  a  cottage  by  the 
roadside ;  a  situation  which,  doubtless,  gratified  at  once 
his  social  and  his  hospitable  propensities  ;  and,  at  length, 
from  age,  as  well  as  from  paternal  character  and  station, 
came  to  be  regarded  as  the  patriarch  of  the  vale.  Before 
I  mention  the  afflictions  which  fell  upon  his  latter  end, 
and  by  way  of  picturesque  contrast  to  his  closing  scene, 
let  me  have  permission  to  cite  Wordsworth's  sketch 
(taken  from  his  own  boyish  remembrance  of  the  case,) 
describing  the  first  gipsy-like  entrance  of  the  brilliant 
parson  and  his  household  into  Grasmere  —  so  equally  out 
of  harmony  with  the  decorums  of  his  sacred  character 
and  the  splendors  of  his  past  life  :  — 

'  Kough  and  forbidding  were  the  choicest  roads 
By  -whicli  our  northern  wilds  could  then  be  crossed  ; 
And  into  most  of  these  secluded  vales 
Was  no  access  for  wain,  heavy  or  light. 
So  at  his  dwelling-place  the  priest  arriv'd, 
With  store  of  household  goods  in.  panniers  slung 
On  sturdy  horses,  graced  with  jingling  bells  ; 
And,  on  the  back  of  more  ignoble  beast, 
That,  with  like  burthen  of  efiects  most  priz'd 
Or  easiest  carried,  closed  the  motley  train. 
Young  was  I  then,  a  schoolboy  of  eight  years  : 
But  still  methinks  I  see  them  as  they  pass'd 
In  order  —  drawing  toward  their  wish'd-for  home. 
Rock'd  by  the  motion  of  a  trusty  ass, 
Two  ruddy  children  hung,  a  well-pois'd  freight  — 
Each  in  his  basket  nodding  drowsily. 


192  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

Their  bonnets,  I  remember,  Tvreath'd  with  flowers. 

Which  told  it  was  the  pleasant  month  of  June. 

And  close  behind  the  comely  matron  rode  — 

A  woman  of  soft  speech  and  gracious  smile, 

And  with  a  lady's  mien.  —  From  far  they  came, 

Even  from  Northumbrian  hills  :  yet  theirs  had  been 

A  merry  journey,  rich  in  pastime,  cheer'd 

By  music,  pranks,  and  laughter-stirring  jest  ; 

And  freak  put  on,  and  arch  word  dropp'd  —  to  swell 

That  cloud  of  fancy  and  uncouth  surmise 

Which  gathered  round  the  slowly  moving  train. 

"  Whence  do  they  come  ?  and  with  what  errand  charged? 

Belong  they  to  the  fortune-telling  tribe 

Who  pitch  their  tents  under  the  greenwood  tree  ? 

Or  strollers  are  they,  fitted  to  enact 

Fair  Rosamond  and  the  Children  of  the  "Wood  ? 

When  the  next  village  hears  the  show  announc'd 

By  blast  of  trumpet  ?  "     Plenteous  was  the  growth 

Of  such  conjectures  —  overheard  or  seen 

On  many  a  staring  countenance  portray'd 

Of  boor  or  burgher,  as  they  march'd  along. 

And  more  than  once  their  steadiness  of  face 

Was  put  to  proof,  and  exercise  supplied 

To  their  inventive  humor,  by  stern  looks. 

And  questions  in  authoritative  tone. 

By  some  staid  guardian  of  the  public  peace. 

Checking  the  sober  horse  on  which  he  rode. 

In  his  suspicious  wisdom ;  oftener  still 

By  notice  indirect  or  blunt  demand 

From  traveller  halting  in  his  own  despite, 

A  simple  curiosity  to  ease  :  — 

Of  which  adventures,  that  beguil'd  and  cheer'd 

Their  grave  migration,  the  good  pair  would  tell 

With  undiminished  glee  in  hoary  age.' 

Meantime  the  lady  of  the  house  embellished  it  with 
feminine  skill;  and  the  homely  pastor — for  such  he  had 
now  become  —  not  having  any  great  weight  of  spiritual 
duties,   busied  himself  in  rural  labors   and    rural  sports. 


SOCIETY  OF  THE  LAKES.  193 

But  was  his  mind,  though  bending  submissively  to  his  lot, 
changed  in  conformity  to  his  task  ?     No  : 

'  For  he  still 
Retained  a  flashing  eye,  a  burniug  palm, 
A  stin-ing  foot,  a  head  which  beat  at  nights 
Upon  its  pillow  with  a  thousand  schemes. 
Few  likings  had  he  dropp'd,  few  pleasures  lost; 
Generous  and  charitable,  prompt  to  serve; 
And  still  his  harsher  passions  kept  their  hold  — 
Anger  and  indignation.     Still  he  lov'd 
The  sound  of  titled  names,  and  talked  in  glee 
Of  long  past  banquetings  with  high-born  friends: 
Then  from  those  lulling  fits  of  vain  delight 
Uprous'd  by  recollected  injury,  rail'd 
At  their  false  ways  disdainfully  and  oft 
In  bitterness  and  with  a  threatening  eye 
Of  fire,  incens'd  beneath  its  hoary  brow.. 
Those  transports,  with  staid  looks  of  pure  good-will, 
And  with  soft  smile  his  consort  would  reprove. 
She,  far  behind  him  in  the  race  of  years. 
Yet  keeping  her  first  mildness,  was  advanced 
Far  nearer,  in  the  habit  of  her  soul, 
To  that  still  region  whither  all  are  bound.' 


^o' 


Such  was  the  tenor  of  their  lives ;  such  the  separate 
character  of  their  manners  and  dispositions  ;  and,  with 
unusual  quietness  of  course,  both  were  sailing  placidly  to 
their  final  haven.  Death  had  not  visited  their  happy 
mansion  through  a  space  of  forty  years  — '  sparing  both 
old  and  young  in  that  abode.'  But  calms  so  deep  are 
ominous  —  immunities  so  profound  are  terrific.  Sudden- 
ly the  signal  was  given,  and  all  lay  desolate. 

« Not  twice  had  fall'ii 
On  those  high  peaks  the  first  autumnal  snow, 
Before  the  greedy  visiting  was  closed, 
And  the  long  privileg'd  house  left  empty;  swept 
As  by  a  plague.     Yet  no  rapacious  plague 
VOL.  II.  13. 


194  LITERARY   REMINISCENCES. 

,    Had  been  among  them;  all  was  gentle  death, 
One  after  one,  with  intervals  of  peace.' 

The  aged  pastor's  wife,  his  son,  one  of  his  daughters, 
and  '  a  little  smiling  grandson,'  all  had  gone  within  a 
brief  series  of  days.  These  composed  the  entire  house- 
hold in  Grasmere,  (the  others  having  dispersed,  or  mar- 
ried away ;)  and  all  were  gone  but  himself,  by  very 
many  years  the  oldest  of  the  whole  :  he  still  survived. 
And  the  whole  valley,  nay,  all  the  valleys  round  about, 
speculated  with  a  tender  interest  upon  what  course  the 
desolate  old  man  would  take  for  his  support. 

'  All  gone,  all  vanished !  he,  deprived  and  bare. 
How  will  he  face  the  remnant  of  his  life  ? 
What  will  become  of  him  ?  we  said,  and  mus'd 
In  sad  conjectures.  —  Shall  we  meet  him  now, 
Haunting  with  rod  and  line  the  craggy  brooks  ? 
Or  shall  we  overhear  him,  as  we  pass, 
Striving  to  entertain  the  lonely  hours 
With  music  ?  [for  he  had  not  ceas'd  to  touch 
The  harp  or  viol,  which  himself  had  fram'd 
For  their  sweet  purposes,  with  perfect  skill.] 
What  titles  will  he  keep  ?     Will  he  remain 
Musician,  gardener,  builder,  mechanist, 
A  planter,  and  a  reai'er  from  the  seed  ? ' 

Yes ;  he  persevered  in  all  his  pursuits :  intermitted 
none  of  them.  Weathered  a  winter  in  solitude ;  once 
more  beheld  the  glories  of  a  spring,  and  the  resurrection 
of  the  flowers  upon  the  graves  of  his  beloved  ;  held  out 
even  through  the  depths  of  summer  into  the  cheerful 
season  of  haymaking,  (a  season  much  later  in  Westmore- 
land than  in  the  south  ;)  took  his  rank,  as  heretofore, 
amongst  the  haymakers ;  sat  down  at  noon  for  a  little 
rest  to  his  aged  limbs ;  and  found  even  a  deeper  rest 
than  he  was  expecting  ;  for,  in  a  moment  of  time,  without 


SOCIETY    OF    THE    LAKES.  195 

a  warning,  without  a  struggle,  and  without  a  groan,  he  did 
indeed  rest  from  his  labors  for  ever.     He, 

'  With  his  cheerful  throng 
Of  open  projects,  and  his  inward  hoard 
Of  unsunn'd  griefs,  too  many  and  too  keen, 
Was  overcome  by  unexpected  sleep 
In  one  blest  moment.     Like  a  shadow  thrown, 
Softly  and  lightly,  from  a  passing  cloud. 
Death  fell  upon  him,  while  reclined  he  lay 
For  noontide  solace  on  the  summer  gi-ass  — 
The  warm  lap  of  his  mother  earth  ;  and  so. 
Their  lenient  term  of  separation  pass'd, 
That  family—        *  *  *  * 

By  yet  a  higher  privilege  —  once  more 
Were  gathered  to  each  other.' 

Two 'Surviving  members  of  the  family,  a  son  and  a 
daughter,  I  knew  intimately.  Both  have  been  long  dead  ; 
but  the  children  of  the  daughter  —  grandsons,  therefore, 
to  the  patriarch  here  recorded  —  are  living  prosperously, 
and  do  honor  to  the  interesting  family  they  represent. 

The  other  family  were,  if  less  generally  interesting  by 
their  characters  or  accomplishments,  much  more  so  by 
the  circumstances  of  their  position  ;  and  that  member  of 
the  family  with  whom  accident  and  neighborhood  had 
brought  me  especially  connected,  was,  n  her  intellectual 
capacity,  probably  superior  to  most  of  those  Avhom  I  have 
had  occasion  to  record.  Had  no  misfortunes  settled  upon 
her  life  prematurely,  and  with  the  benefit  of  a  little 
judicious  guidance  to  her  studies,  I  am  of  opinion  that  she 
would  have  been  a  most  distinguished  person.  Her 
situation,  when  I  came  to  know  her,  was  one  of  touching 
interest.  I  will  state  the  circumstances  :  —  She  was  the 
sole  and  illegitimate  daughter  of  a  country  gentleman : 
and  was  a  favorite  with  her  father,  as  she  well  deserved 
to  be,  in  a  degree  so  excessive  —  so  nearly  idolatrous  — 


196  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

that  I  never  heard  illustrations  of  it  mentioned  but  that 
secretly  I  trembled  for  the  endurance  of  so  perilous  a  love 
under  the  common  accidents  of  life,  and  still  more  under 
the  unusual  difficulties  and  snares  of  her  peculiar  situation. 
Her  father  was,  by  birth,  breeding,  and  property,  a 
Leicestershire  farmer;  not,  perhaps,  what  you  would 
strictly  call  a  gentleman,  for  he  afTected  no  j'efinements  of 
manner,  but  rather  courted  the  exterior  of  a  bluff,  careless 
yeoman.  Still  he  was  of  that  class  whom  all  people, 
even  then,  on  his  letters,  addressed  as  esquire  :  he  had  an 
ample  income,  and  was  surrounded  with  all  the  luxuries 
of  modern  life.  In  early  life  —  and  that  was  the  sole 
palliation  of  his  guilt —  (and  yet,  again,  in  another  view, 
aggravated  it)  —  he  had  allowed  himself  to  violate  his 
own  conscience  in  a  way  which,  from  the  hour  of  his 
error,  never   ceased  to    pursue   him   with  remorse,  and 

which  was,  in  fact,  its  own  avengei*.     Mr.  K was  a 

favorite  specimen  of  English  yeomanly  beauty  :  a  fine 
athletic  figure  ;  and  with  features  handsome,  well  moulded, 
frank,  and  generous  in  their  expression,  and  in  a  striking 
degi'ee  manly.  In  fact,  he  might  have  sat  for  Robin 
Hood.  It  happened  that  a  young  lady  of  his  own 
neighborhood,  somewhere  near  Mount  Soril  I  think,  fell 
desperately  in  love  with  him.  Oh !  blindness  of  the 
human  heart !  how  deeply  did  she  come  to  rue  the  day 
when  she  first  turned  her  thoughts  to  him  !  At  first,  how- 
ever, her  case  seemed  a  hopeless  one  ;   for  she  herself 

was  remarkably  plain,  and  Mr.  K was  profoundly  in 

love  with  the  very  handsome  daughter  of  a  neighboring 
farmer.  One  advantage,  however,  there  was  on  the  side 
of  this  plain  girl :  she  was  rich  ;  and  part  of  her  wealth, 
or  of  her  expectations,  lay  in  landed  property,  that  would 
effect  a  very  tempting  arrondissement  of  an  estate  be- 
longing to  Mr.  K .     Through  what  course  the  aflair 


SOCIETY    OF    THE    LAKES. 


197 


travelled,  I  never  heard  more  particularly,  than  that 
Mr.  K was  besieged  and  worried  out  of  his  steady- 
mind  by  the  solicitations  of  aunts  and  other  relations,  who 
had  all  adopted  the  cause  of  the  heiress.  But  what 
finally  availed  to  extort  a  reluctant  consent  from  him  was, 
the  representation  made  by  the  young  lady's  family,  and 
backed  by  medical  men,  that  she  was  seriously  in  danger 

of  dying,  unless   Mr.  K would    make   her  his   wife. 

He  was  no  coxcomb ;  but,  when  he  heard  all  his  own 
female  relations  calling  him  a  murderer,  and  taxing  him 
with  having,  at  times,  given  some  encouragement  to  the 
unhappy  lovesick  girl,  in  an  evil  hour  he  agreed  to  give 
up  liis  own  sweetheart  and  marry  her.  He  did  so.  But 
no  sooner  was  this  fatal  step  taken  than  it  was  repented. 
His  love  returned  in  bitter  excess  for  the  girl  whom  he 
had  forsaken,  and  with  frantic  remorse.  This  girl,  at 
length,  by  the  mere  force  of  his  grief,  he  actually 
persuaded  to  live  with  him  as  his  wife ;  and  when,  in 
spite  of  all  concealments,  the  fact  began  to  transpire,  and 
the  ans;rv  wife,  in  order  to  break  off  the  connection, 
obtained  his  consent  to  their  quitting  Leicestershire 
altoijelher,  and  transferrin^  their  whole  establishment  to 

the   Lakes,  Mr.   K evaded   the   whole  object  of  this 

mancEuvre  by  secretly  contriving  to  bring  her  rival  also 
into  Westmoreland.  Her,  however,  he  placed  in  another 
vale  ;  and,  for  some  years,  it  is  pretty  certain  that  Mrs. 

K never  suspected  the  fact.     Some  said  that  it  was 

her  pride  which  would  not  allow  her  to  seem  conscious  of 
so  great  an  atFront  to  herself;  others,  better  skilled  in 
deciphering  the  meaning  of  manners,  steadfastly  affirmed 
that  she  was  in  iiappy  ignorance  of  an  arrangement 
known  to  all  the  country  beside. 

Years   passed  on  ;  and   the   situation  of  the  poor  wife 
became  more  and  more  gloomy.     During  those  years,  she 


198  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

brought  her  husband  no  children  ;  on  the  other  hand,  her 

hated   rival  liad :  Mr.  K saw  growing  up  about  his 

table  two  children,  a  son,  and  then  a  daughter,  who,  in 
their  childhood,  must  have  been  beautiful  creatures;  for 
the  son,  when  I  knew  him  in  after  life,  though  bloated 
and  disfigured  a  good  deal  by  intemperance,  was  still  a 
very  fine  young  man ;  more  athletic  even  than  his  father ; 
and  presenting  his  father's  handsome  English  yeoman's 
face,  exalted  by  a  Roman  dignity  in  some  of  the  features. 
The  daughter  was  of  the  same  cast  of  person;  tall,  and 
Roman  also  in  the  style  of  her  face.  In  fact,  the  brot^ier 
and  the  sister  would  have  offered  a  fine  impersonation  of 
Coriolanus  and  Valeria.  This  Roman  bias  of  the  features 
a  little  affected  the  feminine  loveliness  of  the  daughter's 
appearance.  But  still,  as  the  impression  was  not  very 
decided,  she  would  have  been  pronounced  anywhere  a 
very  captivating   young   woman.     These   were   the   two 

crowns   of  Mr.  K 's   felicity,   that   for   seventeen   or 

eighteen  years  made  the  very  glory  of  his  life.  But 
Nemesis  was  on  his  steps  ;  and  one  of  these  very  children 
she  framed  the  scourge  which  made  the  day  of  his  death 
a  happy  deliverance,  for  which  he  had  long  hungered  and 
thirsted.  But  I  anticipate.  About  the  time  when  I  came 
to  reside  in  Grasmere,  some  little  affair  of  local  business 

one  night  drew  Wordsworth  up  to  Mr.  K 's  house.     It 

was  called,  and  with  great  propriety,  from  the  multitude 
of  holly  trees  that  still  survived  from  ancient  days,  The 

Hollens ;  which  pretty  local  name   Mrs,  K ,  in  her 

general  spirit  of  vulgar  sentimentality,  had  changed  to 
Holly  Grove. 

The  place,  spite  of  its  slipshod  novelish  name,  which 
might  have  led  one  to  expect  a  corresponding  style  of 
tinsel  finery,  and  a  display  of  childish  purposes,  about  its 
furniture   or   its    arrangements,   was    really   simple   and 


SOCIETY  OF  THE  LAKES.  199 

unpretending  ;  whilst  its  situation  was,  in  itself,  a  sufficient 
ground  of  interest ;  for  it  stood  on  a  little  terrace,  running 
like  an  artificial  gallery  or  corridor,  along  the  final,  and 
all  but  perpendicular,  descent  of  the  mighty  Fairfield.* 
It  seemed  as  if  it  must  require  iron  bolts  to  pin  it  to  the 
rock,  which  rose  so  high,  and,  apparently,  so  close  behind. 
Not  until  you  reached  the  little  esplanade  upon  which  the 
modest  mansion  stood,  were  you  aware  of  a  little  area 
interposed  between  the  rear  of  the  house  and  the  rock, 
just  sufficient  for  ordinary  domestic  offices.  The  house 
was  otherwise  interesting  to  myself,  from  recalling  one  in 
which  I  had  passed  part  of  my  infancy.  As  in  that,  you 
entered  by  a  rustic  hall,  fitted  up  so  as  to  make  a  beautiful 
little  breakfasting-room  :  the  distribution  of  the  passages 
was  pretty  nearly  the  same  ;  and  there  were  other  resem- 
blances. Mr.  K received  us  with  civility  and  hospi- 
tality—  checked,  however,  and  embarrassed,  by  a  very 
evident  reserve.  The  reason  of  this  was,  partly,  that  he 
distrusted  the  feelings,  towards  himself,  of  two  scholars ; 
but  more,  perhaps,  that  he  had  something  beyond  this 
general  jealousy  for  distrusting  Wordsworth.  He  had 
been  a  very  extensive  planter  of  larches,  which  were  then 
recently  introduced  into  the  Lake  country ;  and  were,  in 

* '  Mighty  Fairfield.' 

And  Mighty  Fairfield,  with  her  chime 

Of  echoes,  still  was  keeping  time. 

Wordsworth's  '  Waggoner.' 
I  have  retained  the  English  name  of  Fairfield  ;  hut,  when  I  was 
studying  Danish,  I  stumbled  upon  the  true  meaning  of  the  name,  un- 
locked by  that  language ;  and  reciprocally  (as  one  amongst  other 
instances  which  I  met  at  the  very  threshold  of  my  studies)  unlocking 
the  fact  that  Danish  (or  Icelandic  rather)  is  the  master-key  to  the  local 
names  and  dialect  of  Westmoreland.  Faar  is  a  sheep :  fald  a  hill. 
But  are  not  all  the  hills  sheep  hills  ?  No  ;  Fairfield  only,  amongst  all 
its  neiglibors,  has  large,  smooth,  pastoral  savannas,  to  which  the  sheep 
resort  when  all  the  rocky  or  barren  neighbors  are  left  desolate. 


200  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

every  direction,  displacing  the  native  forest  scenery,  and 
dismally  disfiguring  this  most  lovely  region  ;  and  this 
effect  was  necessarily  in  its  worst  ex'cess  during  the  infancy 
of  the  larch  plantations ;  both  because  they  took  the 
formal  arrangement  of  nursery  grounds,  until  extensive 
thinnings,  as  well  as  storms,  had  begun  to  break  this 
hideous  stiffness  in  the  lines  and  angles,  and  also  because 
the  larch  is  a  mean  tree,  both  in  form  and  coloring,  (having 
a  bright  gosling  glare  in  spring,  a  wet  blanket  hue  in 
autumn,)  as  long  as  it  continues  a  young  tree.  Not  until 
it  has  seen  forty  or  fifty  winters  does  it  begin  to  toss  its 
boughs  about  with  a  wild  Alpine  grace.  Wordsworth, 
for  many  years,  had  systematically  abused  the  larches  and 
the  larch  planters  ;  and  there  went  about  the  country  a 
pleasant  anecdote,  in  connection  with  this  well-known 
habit  of  his,  which  I  have  often  heard  repeated  by  the 
woodmen  —  viz.,  that,  one  day,  when  he  believed  himself 
to  be  quite  alone  —  but  was,  in  fact,  surveyed  coolly, 
during  the  whole  process  of  his  passions,  by  a  reposing 
band  of  laborers  in  the  shade,  and  at  their  noontide  meal 
—  Wordsworth,  on  finding  a  whole  cluster  of  birch-trees 
grubbed  up,  and  preparations  making  for  the  installation 
of  larches  in  their  place,  was  seen  advancing  to  the  spot 
with  gathering  wrath  in  his  eyes  ;  next  he  was  heard 
pouring  out  an  interrupted  litany  of  comminations  and 
maledictions  ;  and,  finally,  as  his  eye  rested  upon  the  four 
or  five  larches  which  were  already  beginning  to  '  dress  the 
line '  of  the  new  battalion,  he  seized  his  own  hat  in  a 
transport    of   fury,    and    launched    it   against   the    odious 

intruders.     Mr.  K had,  doubtless,  heard,  of  \A'ords- 

worth's  frankness  upon  this  theme,  and  knew  himself  to 
be,  as  respected  Grasmere,  the  sole  offender. 

In  another  way,  also,  he  had  earned  a  few  random  shots 
from  Wordsworth's  wrath  —  viz.,  as  the  erector  of  a  huge 


SOCIETY    OF    THE    LAKES. 


201 


unsightly  barn,  built  solely  for  convenience,  and  so  far 
violating  all  the  modesty  of  rustic  proportions,  that  it  was 
really  an  eyesore  in  the  valley.  These  considerations, 
and  others  beside,  made  him  reserved  ;  but  he  felt  the 
silent  appeal  to  his  lares  from  the  strangers'  presence,  and 

was  even  kind  in  his  courtesies.     Suddenly,  Mrs.  K 

entered  the  room  —  instantly  his  smile  died  away  :  he  did 
not  even  mention  her  name.  Wordsworth,  however,  she 
knew  slightly ;    and  to  me  she  introduced  herself.     Mr. 

K seemed  almost  impatient  when  I  rose  and  presented 

her  with  my  chair.  Anything  that  detained  her  in  the 
room  for  a  needless  moment  seemed  to  him  a  nuisance. 
She,  on  the  other  hand  —  what  was  her  behavior?  I 
had  been  told  that  she  worsliipped  the  very  ground  on 
which  he  trod  ;  and  so,  indeed,  it  appeared.  This  adoring 
love  might,  under  other  circumstances,  have  been  beau- 
tiful to  contemplate  :  but  here  it  impressed  unmixed  dis- 
gust. Imagine  a  woman  of  very  homely  features,  and 
farther  disfigured  by  a  scorbutic  eruption,  fixing  a  tender 
gaze  upon  a  burly  man  of  forty,  who  showed,  by  every 
word,  look,  gesture,  movement,  that  he  disdained  her.  In 
fact,  nothing  could  be  more  injudicious  than  her  deport- 
ment towards  him.  Everybody  must  feel  that  a  man  who 
hates  any  person,  hates  that  person  the  more  for  troubling 
him  with  expressions  of  love  ;  or,  at  least,  it  adds  to  hatred 
the  sting  of  disgust.     That  was  the  fixed  language  of  Mr. 

K 's  manner,  in  relation  to  his  wife.     He  was  not  a 

man  to  be  pleased  with  foolish  fondling  endearments,  from 
any  woman,  before  strangers  ;  but  from  her !  Faugh  !  he 
said  internally,  at  every  instant.  His  very  eyes  he  averted 
from  her:  not  once  did  he  look  at  her,  though  forced  into 
the  odious  necessity  of  speaking  to  her  several  times;  and, 
at  length,  when  she  seemed  disposed  to  construe  our  pres- 
ence as  a  sort  of  brief  privilege  to  her  own,  he  adopted  that 


202  LITERARY    REBIINISCENCES. 

same  artifice  for  ridding  himself  of  her  detested  company, 
which  has  sometimes  done  seasonable  service  to  a  fine 
gentleman  when  called  upon  by  ladies  for  the  explanation 
of  a  Greek  word  —  he  hinted  to  her,  pretty  broadly,  that 
the  subject  of  our  conversation  was  not  altogether  proper 
for  female  ears;  very  much  to  the  astonishment  of  Words- 
worth and  myself. 


CHAPTER    XX. 

SOCIETY    OF    THE    LAKES. 

It  was  at  Mr.  Wordsworth's  house  that  I  first  became 
acquainted  with  Professor  (then  Mr.)  Wilson,  of  Elleray. 
I  have  elswhere  described  the  impression  which  he  made 
upon  me  at  my  first  acquaintance  ;  and  it  is  sufficiently 
known,  from  other  accounts  of  Mr.  Wilson,  (as,  for 
example,  that  written  by  Mr.  Lockhart  in  '  Peter's  Let- 
ters,') that  he  divided  his  time  and  the  utmost  sincerity  of 
his  love  between  literature  and  the  stormiest  pleasures  of 
real  life.  Cock-fighting,  wrestling,  pugilistic  contests,  boat- 
racing,  horse-racing,  all  enjoyed  Mr.  Wilson's  patronage  ; 
all  were  occasionally  honored  by  his  personal  participation. 
I  mention  this  in  no  unfriendly  spirit  toward  Professor 
Wilson ;  on  the  contrary,  these  propensities  grew  out  of 
his  ardent  temperament  and  his  constitutional  endowments 
—  his  strength,  speed,  and  agility  :  and  being  confined  to 
the  period  of  youth  —  for  I  am  speaking  of  a  period 
removed  by  five-and-twenty  years  —  can  do  him  no  dis- 
honor amongst  the  candid  and  the  judicious.  '  N071  lusisse 
piidet,  sed  non  incidere  ludum.''  The  truth  was,  that 
Professor  Wilson  had  in  him,  at  that  period  of  life,  some- 
thing of  the  old  English  chivalric  feeling  which  our  old 
ballad  poetry  agrees  in  ascribing  to  Robin  Hood.  Several 
men  of  genius  have  expressed  to  me,  at  different  times, 
the  delight  they  had  in  the  traditional  character  of  Robin 


204  LITEKARY    REMINISCENCES. 

Hood  :  he  has  no  resemblance  to  the  old  heroes  of  Con- 
tinental romance  in  one  important  feature  ;  they  are 
uniforoily  victorious  :  and  this  gives  even  a  tone  of  mo- 
notony to  the  Continental  poems  :  for,  let  them  involve 
their  hero  in  what  dangers  they  may,  the  reader  still  feels 
them  to  be  as  illusory  as  those  which  menace  an  enchanter 
—  an  Astolpho,  for  instance,  who,  by  one  blast  of  his  horn, 
can  dissipate  an  army  of  opponents.  But  Robin  is  fre- 
quently beaten:  he  never  declines  a  challenge  ;  sometimes 
he  courts  one  ;  and  occasionally  he  learns  a  lesson  from 
some  proud  tinker  or  masterful  beggar,  the  moral  of  which 
teaches  him  that  there  are  better  men  in  the  world  than 
himself.  What  follows  ?  Is  the  brave  man  angry  with  his 
stout-hearted  antagonist,  because  he  is  no  less  brave  and  a 
little  stronger  than  himself?  Not  at  all :  he  insists  on 
making  him  a  present,  on  giving  him  a  dejeuner  a  la  four' 
chette,  and  (in  case  he  is  disposed  to  take  service  in  the 
forest)  "finally  adopts  him  into  his  band  of  archers.  Much 
the  same  spirit  governed,  in  his  earlier  years.  Professor 
Wilson.  And,  though  a  man  of  prudence  cannot  altogether 
approve  of  his  throwing  himself  into  the  convivial  society 
of  gipsies,  tinkers,  potters,*  strolling  players,  &c.  ;  never- 
theless, it  tells  altogether  in  favor  of  Professor  Wilson's 
generosity  of  mind,  that  he  was  ever  ready  to  forego  his 
advantas-es  of  station  and  birth,  and  to  throw  himself 
fearlessly  upon  his  own  native  powers,  as  man  opposed  to 
man.  Even  at  Oxford  he  fought -an  aspiring  shoemaker 
repeatedly,  which  is.  creditable  to  both  sides  ;  for  the  very 
prestige  of  the  gown  is  already  overpowering  to  the  artisan 
from  the  beginning,  and  he  is  half  beaten  by  terror  at  his 
own  presumption.     Elsewhere  he  sought  out,  or,  at  least 

*  Poller  is  the  local  term  in  northeni  England  for  a  hawker  of  earth- 
en ware,  many  of  which  class  lead  a  vagrant  life,  and  encamp  during  the 
summer  months  like  gipsies. 


PROFESSOR   WILSON.  205 

did  not  avoid  the  most  dreaded  of  the  local  heroes ;  and 
foLiglit  his  way  through  his  '  most  verdant  years,'  taking 
or  giving  defiances  to  the  right  and  the  left  in  perfect 
carelessness,  as  chance  or  occasion  offered.  No  man 
could  well  show  more  generosity  in  these  struggles,  nor 
more  magnanimity  in  reporting  their  issue,  which  naturally 
went  many  times  against  him.  But  Mr.  Wilson  neither 
sought  to  disguise  the  issue  nor  showed  himself  at  all 
displeased  with  it :  even  brutal  ill-usage  did  not  seem  to 
have  left  any  vindictive  remembrance  of  itself.  These 
features  of  his  character,  however,  and  these  propensities 
which  naturally  belonged  merely  to  the  transitional  state 
from  boyhood  to  manhood,  would  have  drawn  little  atten- 
tion on  their  own  account,  had  they  not  been  relieved  and 
emphatically  contrasted  by  his  passion  for  literature,  and 
the  fluent  command  which  he  soon  showed  over  a  rich 
and  voluptuous  poetic  diction.  In  everything  Mr.  Wilson 
showed  himself  an  Athenian.  Athenians  were  all  lovers 
of  the  cockpit ;  and,  howsoever  shocking  to  the  sensibilities 
of  modern  refinement,  we  have  no  doubt  that  Plato  was  a 
frequent  better  at  cock-fights  ;  and  Socrates  is  known  to 
have  bred  cocks  himself.  If  there  were  anv  Athenian, 
however,  in  particular,  it  was  Alcibiades ;  for  he  had  his 
marvellous  versatility ;  and  to  the  Windermere  neigh- 
borhood in  which  he  had  settled,  this  versatility  came 
recommended  by  something  of  the  very  same  position  in 
society  —  the  same  wealth,  the  same  social  temper,  the 
same  jovial  hospitality.  No  person  was  better  fitted  to  win 
or  to  maintain  a  high  place  in  social  esteem  ;  for  he  could 
adapt  himself  to  all  companies;  and  the  wish  to  conciliate 
and  to  win  his  way  by  flattering  the  self-love  of  others, 
was  so  predominant  over  all  personal  self-love  and  vanity, 

•  That  he  did  in  the  general  bosom  reign 
Of  young  and  old.' 


206  LITERARY   REMINISCENCES. 

Mr.  Wilson  and  most  of  his  family  I  had  already  known 
for  six  years.  We  had  projected  journeys  together 
through  Spain  and  Greece,  all  of  which  had  been  nipped 
in  the  bud  by  Napoleon's  furious  and  barbarous  mode  of 
making  war.  It  was  no  joke,  as  it  had  been  in  past  times, 
for  an  Englishman  to  be  found  wandering  in  continental 
regions  ;  the  pretence  that  he  was,  or  might  be,  a  spy  —  a 
charge  so  easy  to  make,  so  impossible  to  throw  off —  at 
once  sufficed  for  the  hanging  of  the  unhappy  traveller. 
In  one  of  his  Spanish  bulletins.  Napoleon  even  boasted  * 
of  having  hanged  sixteen  Englishmen,  '  merchants  or 
others  of  that  nation,'  whom  he  taxed  with  no  suspicion 
even  of  being  suspected,  beyond  the  simple  fact  of  being 
detected  in  the  act  of  breathing  Spanish  air.  These 
atrocities  had  interrupted  our  continental  schemes;  and 
we  were  thus  led  the  more  to  roam  amongst  home  scenes. 
How  it  happened  I  know  not — for  we  had  wandered 
together  often  in  England  —  but,  by  some  accident,  it  was 
not  until  1814  that  we  visited  Edinburgh  together.  Then 
it  was  that  I  first  saw  Scotland. 

I  remember  a  singular  incident  which  befell  us  on  the 
road.  Breakfasting  together,  before  starting,  at  Mr. 
Wilson's  place  of  Elleray,  we  had  roamed,  through  a 
long  and  delightful  day,  by  way  of  UUeswater,  &c. 
Reaching  Penrith  at  night,  we  slept  there  ;  and  in  the 
morning,  as  we  were  sunning  ourselves  in  the  street,  we 
saw,  seated  in  an  arm-chair,  and  dedicating  himself  to  the 
self-same  task  of  apricating  his  jolly  personage,  a  rosy, 
jovial,  portly  man,  having  something  of  the  air  of  a 
Quaker.  Good  nature  was  clearly  his  predominating 
quality  ;  and,  as  that  happened  to  be  our  foible  also,  we 


*  This  brutal  boast  might,  after  all,  be  a  falsehood  ;  and,  with  respect 
to  mere  numbers,  probably  was  so. 


PROFESSOR   WILSON.  207 

soon   fell  into  talk;    and   from    that  into   reciprocations 
of  good  will;  and  from  those  into  a  direct  proposal,  on 
our  new  friend's  part,  that  we  should  set  out  upon  our 
travels  together.     How  —  whither  —  to  what  end  or  ohject 
—  seemed  as  little  to  enter  into  his  speculations  as  the 
cost  of  realizing  them.     Rare  it  is,  in  this  business  world 
of  ours,  to  find  any  man  in  so  absolute  a  state  of  indiffer- 
ence and  neutrality,  that  for  him  all  quarters  of  the  globe, 
and   all    points   of    the   compass,    are    self-balanced    by 
philosophic  equilibrium  of  choice.     There  seemed  to  us 
something  amusing  and  yet  monstrous  in  such  a  man ; 
and,  perhaps,  had   we   been   in   the    same   condition   of 
exquisite  indetermination,  to  this  hour  we  might  all  have 
been  staying  together  at  Penrith.     We,  however,    were 
previously  bound  to  Edinburgh;  and,  as  soon  as  this  was 
explained  to  him,  that  way  he  proposed  to  accompany 
us.     We  took  a  chaise,  therefore,  jointly,  to  Carlisle  ;  and, 
during  the  whole  eighteen  miles,  he  astonished  us  by  the 
wildest  and  most  frantic  displays  of  erudition,  much  of  it 
levelled  at  Sir  Isaac  Newton.     Much  philosophical  learning 
also   he  exhibited ;   but  the  grotesque  accompajiiment  of 
the  whole  was,  that,  after  every  bravura,  he  fell  back  into 
his  corner  in  fits  of  laughter  at  himself.     We  began  to 
find   out   the  unhappy   solution  of   his  indifference  and 
purposeless  condition;  he  was  a  lunatic ;  and,  afterwards, 
we  had  reason  to  suppose  that  he  was  now  a  fugitive  from 
his  keepers.     At  Carlisle  he  became  restless  and  suspi- 
cious ;  and,  finally,  upon  some  real  or  imaginary  business, 
he  turned  aside  to  Whitehaven.     We  were  not  the  objects 
of  his   jealousy ;  for   he  parted  Avith  us  reluctantly  and 
anxiously.     On  our  part,  we  felt  our  pleasure  overcast  by 
sadness ;  for  we  had  been  much  amused  by  his  conversa- 
tion, and  could  not  but  respect  the  philological  learning 
which  he  had  displayed.     But  one  thing  was  wdiimsical 


208  LITEKARY   REMi:^ISCENCES. 

enough:  Wilson  purposely  said  some  startling  things  — 
startling  in  point  of  decorum,  or  gay  pleasantries,  contra 
bonos  mores  ;  at  every  sally  of  which,  he  looked  as  awfully 
shocked  as  though  he  himself  had  not  been  holding  the 
most  licentious  talk  in  another  key,  licentious  as  respected 
all  truth  of  history  or  of  science.  Another  illustration,  in 
fact,  he  furnished  of  what  I  "have  so  often  heard  Coleridge 
say — that  lunatics,  in  general,  so  far  from  being  the 
brilliant  persons  they  are  thought,  and  having  a  preter- 
natural brightness  of  fancy,  usually  are  the  very  dullest 
and  most  uninspired  of  mortals.  The  sequel  of  our  poor 
friend's  history —  for  the  apparent  goodness  of  his  nature 
had  interested  us  both  in  his  fortunes  and  caused  us  to 
inquire  after  him  through  all  probable  channels  —  was, 
that  he  was  last  seen  by  a  Cambridge  man  of  our 
acquaintance,  but  under  circumstances  which  confirmed 
our  worst  fears:  it  was  in  a  stage-coach:  and,  at  first, 
the  Cantab  suspected  notliing  amiss ;  but  some  accident 
of  conversation  being  started,  the  topic  of  La  Place's 
Mechanique  Celeste,  off  flew  our  jolly  Penrith  friend  in  a 
tirade  against  Sir  Isaac  Newton ;  so  that  at  once  we 
recognised  him,  as  the  '  Vicar  of  Wakefield,'  his  '  cos- 
mogony friend  '  in  prison  ;  but  —  and  that  was  melancholy 
to  hear  —  this  tirade  was  suddenly  checked,  in  the  rudest 
manner,  by  a  brutal  fellow  in  one  corner  of  the  carriage, 
who,  as  it  now  appeared, 'was  attending  him  as  a  regular 
keeper  ;  and,  according  to  the  custom  of  such  people, 
always  laid  an  interdict  upon  every  ebullition  of  fancy  or 
animated  thought.  He  was  a  man  whose  mind  had  got 
some  wheel  entangled,  or  some  spring  overloaded,  but 
else,  was  a  learned  and  able  person  ;  and  he  was  to  be 
silent  at  the  bidding  of  a  low,  brutal  fellow,  incapable  of 
distinguishing  between  the  gaieties  of  fancy  and  the 
wandering  of  the  intellect.     Sad  fate  !  and  sad  inversion 


PROFESSOR   WILSON.  209 

of  the  natural  relations  between  the  accomplished  scholar 
and  the  rude,  illiterate  boor ! 

Of  Edinburgh  I  thought  to  have  spoken  at  length.  But 
I  pause,  and  retreat  from  the  subject,  when  I  remember 
that  so  many  of  those  whom  I  loved  and  honored  at  that 
time  —  some,  too,  among  the  gayest  of  the  gay  —  are  now 
lying  in  their  graves.  Of  Professor  Wilson's  sisters,  the 
youngest,  at  that  time  a  child  almost,  and  standing  at  the 
very  vestibule  of  womanhood,  is  alone  living  :  she  has  had 
a  romantic  life  ;  has  twice  traversed,  with  no  attendance 
but  her  servants,  the  gloomy  regions  of  the  Caucasus ; 
and  once  with  a  young  child  by  her  side.  Her  husband, 
Mr.  M'Neill,  is  now  the  English  envoy  at  the  court  of 
Teheran.  On  the  rest,  one  of  whom  I  honored  and  loved 
as  a  sister,  the  curtain  has  fallen ;  and  here,  in  the  present 
mood  of  my  spirits,  I  also  feel  disposed  to  drop  a  curtain 
over  my  subsequent  memoirs.  Farewell  hallowed  recol- 
lections ! 

Thus,  I  have  sketched  the  condition  of  the  lake  district, 
as  to  society  of  an  intellectual  order,  at  the  time,  (viz., 
the  winter  of  1808-9,)  when  I  became  a  personal  resi- 
dent in  that  district;  and,  indeed,  from  this  era,  through 
a  period  of  about  twenty  years  in  succession,  I  may 
describe  my  domicile  as  being  amongst  the  lakes  and 
mountains  of  Westmoreland.  It  is  true,  I  often  made 
excursions  to  London,  Bath,  and  its  neighborhood,  or 
northwards  to  Edinburgh ;  and,  perhaps,  on  an  average, 
passed  one-fourth  part  of  each  year  at  a  distance  from  this 
district ;  but  here  only  it  was  that  henceforwards  I  had  a 
house  and  small  establishment.  The  house,  for  a  very 
long  course  of  years,  was  that  same  cottage  in  Grasmere, 
embowered  in  roses  and  jessamine,  which  I  have  already 
described  as  a  spot  hallow^ed  to  the  admirers  of  Mr. 
Wordsworth,  by  his  seven  years'  occupation  of  its  pretty 

VOL.  II.  14 


210  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

chambers  and  its  rocky  orchard  :  a  little  domain,  which 
he  has  himself  apostrophized  as  the  '  lowest  stair  in  that 
magnificent  temple,'  forming  the  north-eastern  boundary 
of  Grasmere.  The  little  orchard  is  rightly  called  '  the 
lowest  stair;'  for  within  itself,  all  is  ascending  ground; 
hardly  enough  of  flat  area  on  which  to  pitch  a  pavilion, 
and  even  that  scanty  surface  an  inclined  plane ;  whilst 
the  rest  of  the  valley,  into  which  you  step  immediately 
from  the  garden  gate,  is,  (according  to  the  characteristic 
beauty  of  the  northern  English  valleys,  as  first  noticed 
by  Mr.  Wordsworth  himself,)  '  flat  as  the  floor  of  a 
temple.' 

In  sketching  the  state  of  the  literary  society  gathered  or 
gathering  about  the  English  lakes,  at  the  time  of  my 
settling  amongst  them,  I  have,  of  course,  authorized  the 
reader  to  suppose  that  I  personally  mixed  freely  amongst 
the  whole ;  else  I  should  have  had  neither  the  means  for 
describing  that  society  with  truth,  nor  any  motive  for 
attempting  it.  Meantime,  the  direct  object  of  my  own 
residence  at  the  lakes  was  the  society  of  Mr.  Wordsworth. 
And  it  will  be  a  natural  inference  that,  if  I  mingled  on 
familiar  or  friendly  terms  with  this  society,  a  fortiori 
would  Mr.  Wordsworth  do  so,  as  belonging  to  the  lake 
district  by  birth,  and  as  having  been,  in  some  instances, 
my  own  introducer  to  members  of  this  community.  But 
it  was  not  so;  and  never  was  a  grosser  blunder  commit- 
ted than  by  Lord  Byron,  when,  in  a  letter  to  Mr.  Hogg, 
(/rom  which  an  extract  is  given  in  some  volume  of  Mr. 
Lockhart's  '  Life  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,')  he  speaks  of 
Wordsworth,  Southey,  &:c.,  in  connection  with  Sir  Walter, 
as  all  alike  injured  by  mixing  only  with  little  adoring 
coteries,  which  each  severally  was  supposed  to  have 
gathei'^d  about  himself  as  a  centre.  Now,  had  this  really 
been  the  case,  I  know  not   how  the  objects  of  such  a 


WILLIAM    WORDSAVORTH.  211 

partial  or  exclusive  admiration  could  have  been  injured  by 
it  ill  any  sense  \viili  which  the  public  were  concerned. 
A  writer  may  —  and  of  that  there  arc  many  instances  — 
write  the  worse  for  meeting  nobody  of  sympathy  with 
himself;  no  admiration  sufficient  to  convince  him  that  he 
has  written  powerfully  :  that  misfortune,  when  it  occurs, 
may  injure  a  writer,  or  may  cause  him  to  cease  cultivating 
his  genius.  But  no  man  was  ever  injured  by  the  strong 
reflection  of  his  own  power  in  love  and  admiration  ;  not 
as  a  writer,  I  mean  :  though  it  is  very  true,  from  the  great 
variety  of  modes  in  which  praise,  or  the  indirect  flattery 
of  silent  homage,  acts  upon  different  minds,  that  some 
men  maybe  injured  as  social  companions:  vanity,  and, 
still  more,  egotism  —  the  habit  of  making  self  the  central 
point  of  reference,  in  every  treatment  of  every  subject  — 
ni^y  certainly  be  cherished  by  the  idolatry  of  a  private 
circle,  continually  ascending ;  but  arrogance  and  gloomy 
anti-social  pride  are  qualities  much  more  likely  to  be 
favored  by  sympathy  withheld,  and  the  unjust  denial  of  a 
man's  pretensions.  This,  however,  need  not  be  discussed 
with  any  reference  to  Mr.  Wordsworth ;  for  he  had  no 
such  admiring  circle  :  no  applauding  coterie  ever  gathered 
about  him.  Wordsworth  was  not  a  man  to  be  openly 
flattered  :  his  pride  repelled  that  kind  of  homage,  or  any 
homage  that  oflered  itself  with  the  air  of  conferring 
honor ;  and  repelled  it  m  a  tone  of  loftiness  or  arrogance 
that  never  failed  to  kindle  the  pride  of  the  baflied  flatterer. 
Nothing  in  the  way  of  applause  could  give  Wordsworth 
any  pleasure,  unless  it  were  the  spontaneous  and  half- 
unconscious  utterance  of  delight  in  some  passage  —  the 
implicit  applause  of  love,  half  afraid  to  express  itself;  or 
else  the  deliberate  praise  of  rational  examination,  study, 
and  comparison,  applied  to  his  writings :  these  were  the 
only  modes  of  admiration  which  could  recommend  them- 


2l2  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

selves  to  Wordsworth.  But  had  it  been  otherwise,  there 
was  another  mistake  in  what  Lord  Byron  said :  —  the 
neighboring  people,  in  every  degree,  '  gentle  and  simple,' 
literary  or  half-educated,  who  had  heard  of  Wordsworth, 
agreed  in  despising  him.  Never  had  poet  or  prophet  less 
honor  in  his  own  country.  Of  the  gentry,  very  few  knew 
anything  about  Wordsworth.  Grasmere  was  a  vale  little 
visited  at  that  time,  except  for  an  hour's  admiration.  The 
case  is  now  altered  ;  and  partly  by  a  new  road,  which, 
having  pierced  the  valley  by  a  line  carried  along  the 
water's  edge,  at  a  most  preposterous  cost,  and  with  a  large 
arrear  of  debt  for  the  next  generation,  saves  the  labor  of 
surmounting  a  laborious  hill.  The  case  is  now  altered, 
no  less  for  the  intellect  of  the  age  ;  and  Rydal  Mount  is 
now  one  of  the  most  honored  abodes  in  the  island.  But, 
at  that  time,  Grasmere  did  not  differ  more  from  the 
Grasmere  of  to-day  than  Wordsworth  from  the  Words- 
worth of  1809-20.  I  repeat  that  he  was  little  known, 
even  as  a  resident  in  the  country ;  and,  as  a  poet,  strange 
it  would  have  been  had  the  little  town  of  Ambleside 
undertaken  to  judge  for  itself,  and  against  a  tribunal 
which  had  for  a  time  subdued  the  very  temper  of  the  age. 
Lord  Byron  might  have  been  sure  that  nowhere  would  the 
contempt  for  Mr.  Wordsworth  be  rifer  than  exactly 
amongst  those  who  had  a  local  reason  for  curiosity  about 
the  man,  and  who,  of  course,  adopting  the  tone  of  the 
presiding  journals,  adopted  them  with  a  personality  of 
feeling  unknown  elsewhere. 

Except,  therefore,  with  the  Lloyds,  or  occasionally  with 
Thomas  Wilkinson  the  Quaker,  or  very  rarely  with 
Southey,  Wordsworth  had  no  intercourse  at  all  beyond  the 
limits  of  Grasmere  :  and  in  that  valley  I  was  myself,  for 
some  years,  his  sole  visiting  friend  ;  as,  on  the  other  hand, 
my  sole  visiters,  as  regarded  that  vale,  were  himself  and 
his  family. 


KATE    WOKDSWORTII.  213 

Among  that  family,  and  standing  fourth  in  tlie  series  of 
his  children,  was  a  little  girl,  whose  life,  short  as  it  was, 
and  whose  death,  obscure  and  little  heard  of  as  it  was 
amongst  all  the  rest  of  the  world,  connected  themselves 
with  the  records  of  my  own  life  by  ties  of  passion  so 
profound,  by  a  grief  so  frantic,  and  so  memorable  through 
the  injurious  effects  which  it  produced  of  a  physical  kind, 
that,  had  I  left  untouched  every  other  chapter  of  my  own 
experience,  I  should  certainly  have  left  behind  some 
memorandum  of  this,  as  having  a  permanent  interest  in 
the  psychological  history  of  human  nature.  Luckily  the 
facts  are  not  without  a  parallel,  and  in  well  authenticated 
medical  books ;  else  I  should  have  scrupled,  (as  what 
man  does  ?iot  scruple  who  values,  above  all  things,  the 
reputation  for  veracity  ?)  to  throw  the  whole  stress  of 
credibility  on  my  own  unattached  narration.  But  all 
experienced  physicians  know  well  that  cases  similar  to 
mine,  though  not  common,  occur  at  intervals  in  every 
large  community. 

When  I  first  settled  in  Grasmere,  Catherine  Wordsworth 
was  in  her  infancy ;  but,  even  at  that  age,  noticed  me 
more  than  any  other  person,  excepting,  of  course,  her 
mother.  She  had  for  an  attendant  a  young  girl,  perhaps, 
thirteen  years  old  —  Sarah,  one  of  the  orphan  children 
left  by  the  unfortunate  couple,  George  and  Sarah  Green, 
whose  tragical  end  in  a  snow-stomn  I  have  already 
narrated.  This  Sarah  Green  was  as  far  removed  in 
character  as  could  be  imagined  from  that  elder  sister  who 
had  won  so  much  admiration  in  her  childish  days,  by  her 
premature  display  of  energy  and  household  virtues.  She 
was  lazy,  luxurious,  and  sensual:  one,  in  fact,  of  those 
nurses  who,  in  their  anxiety  to  gossip  about  young  men, 
leave  their  infant  of  youthful  charges  to  the  protection  of 
chance.     It  was,  however,  not  in  her  out-of-door  ram- 


214  LITERARY    KEBIINISCENCES. 

blings,  but  at  home,  that  the  accident  occurred  which 
determined  the  fortunes  of  little  Catherine.  Mr.  Cole- 
ridge was,  at  that  time,  a  visiter  to  the  Wordsworths  at 
Allan  Bank,  that  house  in  Grasmere  to  which  Wordsworth 
had  removed  upon  quitting  his  cottage.  One  day  about 
noon,  when,  perhaps,  he  was  coming  down  to  breakfast, 
Mr.  Coleridge  passed  Sarah  Green,  playing  after  her 
indolent  fashion  with  the  child;  and  between  them  lay  a 
number  of  carrots.  He  warned  the  girl  that  raw  carrots 
were  an  indijrestible  substance  for  the  stomach  of  an 
infant.  This  warnincr  was  neglected  :  little  Catherine  ate 
—  it  was  never  known  how  many;  and,  in  a  short  time, 
was  seized  with  strong  convulsions.  I  saw  her  in  this 
state  about  two,  P.  M,  No  medical  aid  was  to  be  had 
nearer  than  Ambleside ;  about  six  miles  distant.  How- 
ever, all  proper  measures  were  taken;  and,  by  sunset,  she 
had  so  far  recovered  as  to  be  pronounced  out  of  danger. 
Her  left  side,  however,  left  arm,  and  left  leg,  from  that 
time  forward,  were  in  a  disabled  state  :  not  what  could  be 
called  paralyzed,  but  suffering  a  sort  of  atony  or  imperfect 
distribution  of  vital  power.  Catherine  was  not  above 
three  years  old  when  she  died  ;  so  that  ttiere  could  not 
have  been  much  room  for  the  expansion  of  her  under- 
standing, or  the  unfolding  of  her  real  character.  But 
there  was  room  enough  in  her  short  life,  and  too  much,  for 
Jove  the  most  frantic  to  settle  upon  her.  The  whole  vale 
of  Grasmere  is  not  large  enough  to  allow  of  any  great 
distances  between  house  and  house;  and  as  it  .happened 
that  little  Kate  Wordsworth  returned  my  love,  she  in  a 
manner  lived  with  me  at  my  solitary  cottage  ;  as  often  as 
I  could  entice  her  from  home,  walked  with  me,  slept  with 
me,  and  was  my  sole  companion.  That  I  was  not  singular 
in  describing  some  witchery  to  the  nature  and  manners  of 
this  innocent  child,  you  may  gather  from  the  following 


KATE    WORDSWORTH.  215 

most  beautiful  lines  extracted  from  a  sketch  *  towards  her 
portraiture,  drawn  by  lier  father,  (with  whom,  however, 
she  was  noways  a  favorite) :  — 

'  And  as  a  faggot  sparkles  on  the  hearth, 
Not  less  if  unattended  and  alone 
Than  when  both  young  and  old  sit  gather'd  round, 
And  take  delight  in  its  activity  ; 
Even  so  this  happy  creature  of  herself 
Was  all  sufficient :  Solitude  to  her 
Was  blithe  society,  who  fiU'd  the  air 
With  gladness  and  involuntary  songs. 
Light  were  her  sallies  as  the  tripping  fxwn's, 
Forth  startled  from  the  form  where  she  lay  couch'd  j 
Unthought  of,  unexpected,  as  the  stir 
Of  the  soft  breeze  ruffling  the  meadow  flowers  ; 
Or  from  before  it  chasing  wantonly 
The  many-color'd  images  irapress'd 
Upon  the  bosom  of  a  placid  lake.' 

It  was  this  radiant  spirit  of  joyousness,  making  solitude 
for  her  blithe  society,  and  filling  from  morning  to  night 
the  air  '  with  gladness  and  involuntary  songs,'  this  it  was 
which  so  fascinated  my  heart,  that  I  became  blindly, 
doatingly,  in  a  servile  degree,  devoted  to  this  one  affection. 

*  It  is  entitled  '  Characteristics  of  a  Child  Three  Years  Old  ;'  and  is 
dated  at  the  foot  ISII,  which  must  he  an  oversight,  for  she  was  not  so 
old  until  the  following  year.  I  may  as  well  add  the  first  six  lines, 
though  I  had  a  reason  for  beginning-  the  extract  where  it  does,  in  order 
to  fix  the  attention  ujioii  ilie  special  circumstance  which  had  so  much 
fascinated  myself,  of  her  all-suflic-icncy  to  herself,  and  the  way  in  which 
she  '  filled  the  air  with  gladness  and  involuntary  songs.'  The  other 
lines  are  these  : 

'  Loving  she  is  and  tractable,  though  wild  ; 
And  Innocence  hath  privilege  in  her 
To  dignify  arch  looks  and  laughing  eyes  ; 
And  feats  of  cunning  ;    and  the  pretty  round 
Of  trespasses,  affected  to  provoke 
Mock  chastisement  and  partnership  in  play.' 


216  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

In  the  Spring  of  1812,  I  went  up  to  London;  and,  early 
in  June,  by  a  letter  from  Miss  Wordsworth,  her  aunt,  I 
learned  the  terrific  news,  (for  such  to  me  it  was,)  that  she 
had  died  suddenly.     She  had  gone  to  bed  in  good  health 
about  sunset  on  June   4;  was    found  speechless  a   little 
before  midnight ;  and  died  in  the  early  dawn,  just  as  the 
first   gleams   of  morning   began   to   appear   above   Seat 
Sandel    and    Fairfield,  the    mightiest    of  the    Grasmere 
barriers,  about  an  hour,  perhaps,  before  sunrise.     Never, 
perhaps,  from  the  foundations  of  those  mighty  hills,  was 
there   so   fierce  a  convulsion   of  grief  as   mastered  my 
faculties  on   receiving  that  heart-shattering  news.     Over 
and  above  my  excess  of  love  for  her,  I  had  always  viewed 
her  as  an  impersonation  of  the  dawn  and  the    spirit  of 
infancy  ;  and   this  abstraction   seated  in  her  person,  to- 
gether with  the  visionary  sort  of  connection,  which,  even 
in  her  parting  hours,  she  assumed  with  the  summer  sun, 
by  timing  her  immersion  into  the  cloud  of  death  with  the 
rising  and  setting  of  that  fountain  of  life  —  these   com- 
bined impressions  recoiled  so  violently  into  a  contrast  or 
polar  antithesis  to  the  image  of  death,  that  each  exalted 
and  brightened  the  other.     I  returned  hastily  to  Grasmere  ; 
stretched  myself  every  night,  for  more  than  two  months 
running,  upon  her  grave  ;  in  fact,  often  passed  the  night 
upon  her  grave  ;  not  (as  may  readily  be  supposed)  in  any 
parade  of  grief;   on  the  contrary,  in  that  quiet  valley   of 
simple  shepherds,  I  was  secure  enough  from  observation 
until  morning  light  began  to  return  ;   but  in  mere  intensity 
of  sick,  frantic  yearning  after  neighborhood  to  the  darling 
of  my  heart. 

Many  readers  will  have  seen  in  Sir  Walter  Scott's  '  De- 
monology,'  and  in  Dr.  Abercrombie's  '  Inquiries  concern- 
ins  the  Intellectual  Powers,'  some  remarkable  illustrations 
of  the  creative   faculties  awakened  in  the  eye  or   other 


KATE   WORDSWORTH.  217 

organs  by  peculiar  states  of  passion  ;  and  it  is  worthy  of 
a  place  amongst  cases  of  that  nature,  that,  in  many  soli- 
taiy  fields,  at  a  considerable  elevation  above  the  level  of 
the  valleys  —  fields  which,  in  the  local  dialect,  are  called 
'  intacks,'  —  my  eye  was  haunted  at  times,  in  broad  noon- 
day, (oftener,  however,  in  the  afternoon,)  with  a  facility, 
but  at  times  also  with  a  necessity,  for  weaving,  out  of  a 
few  simple  elements,  a  perfect  picture  of  little  Kate  in 
the  attitude  and  onward  motion  of  walking.  I  resorted 
constantly  to  these  '  intacks,'  as  places  where  1  was  little 
liable  to  disturbance  ;  and  usually  I  saw  her  at  the  opposite 
side  of  the  field,  which  might  sometimes  be  at  a  distance 
of  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  generally  not  so  much.  Always 
almost  she  carried  a  basket  on  her  head  ;  and  usually  the 
first  hint  upon  which  the  figure  arose  commenced  in  wild 
plants,  such  as  tall  ferns,  or  the  purple  flowers  of  the  fox- 
glove ;  but,  whatever  might  be  the  colors  or  the  forms, 
uniformly  the  same  little  full-formed  figure  arose,  uni- 
formly dressed  in  the  little  blue  bed-gown  and  black  skirt 
of  Westmoreland,  and  uniformly  with  the  air  of  advancing 
motion.  Through  part  of  June,  July,  and  part  of  August, 
in  fact  throughout  the  summer,  this  frenzy  of  grief  con- 
tinued. It  was  reasonably  to  be  expected  that  nature 
would  avenge  such  senseless  self-surrender  to  passion ; 
for,  in  fact,  so  far  from  making  an  effort  to  resist  it,  I 
clung' to  it  as  a  luxury,  (which,  in  the  midst  of  suffering,  it 
really  was  in  part.)  All  at  once,  on  a  day  at  the  latter 
end  of  August,  in  one  instant  of  time,  I  was  seized  with 
some  nervous  sensation  that,  for  a  moment,  caused  sick- 
ness. A  glass  of  brandy  removed  the  sickness;  but  I 
felt,  to  my  horror,  a  sting  as  it  were,  of  some  stationary 
torment  left  behind  —  a  torment  absolutely  indescribable, 
but  under  which  I  felt  assured  that  life  could  not  be  borne. 
It  is  useless  and  impossible  to  describe  what  followed  : 


218  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

with  no  apparent  illness  discoverable  to  any  medical 
eye  —  looking,  indeed,  better  than  usual  for  three  months 
and  upwards,  I  was  under  the  possession  of  some  internal 
nervous  malady,  that  made  each  respiration  which  I  drew 
an  act  of  separate  anguish.  I  travelled  southwards  imme- 
diately to  Liverpool,  to  Birmingham,  to  Bristol,  to  Bath, 
for  medical  advice;  and  finally  rested  —  in  a  gloomy- 
state  of  despair,  rather  because  I  saw  no  use  in-further 
change,  than  that  I  looked  for  any  change  in  this  place 
more  than  others  — at  Clifton,  near  Bristol.  Here  it  was, 
at  length,  in  the  course  of  November,  that,  in  one  hour, 
my  malady  began  to  leave  me  :  it  was  not  quite  so 
abrupt,  however,  in  its  departure,  as  in  its  first  develop- 
ment :  a  peculiar  sensation  arose  from  the  knee  down- 
wards, about  midnight :  it  went  forwards  through  a  space 
of  about  five  hours,  and  then  stopped,. leaving  me  per- 
fectly free  from  every  trace  of  the  awful  malady  which  had 
possessed  me  ;  but  so  much  debilitated  as  with  difficulty 
to  stand  or  walk.  Going  down  soon  after  this,  to  Ilfra- 
combe,  in  Devonshire,  where  there  were  hot  sea  baths,  I 
found  it  easy  enough  to  restore  my  shattered  strength. 
But  the  remarkable  fact  in  this  catastrophe  of  my  illness 
is,  that  all  grief  for  little  Kate  Wordsworth,  nay,  all  re- 
membrance of  her,  had,  with  my  malady,  vanished  from 
my  mind.  The  traces  of  her  innocent  features  were 
utterly  washed  away  from  my  heart :  she  might  have 
been  dead  for  a  thousand  years,  so  entirely  abolished  was 
the  last  lingering  image  of  her  face  or  figure.  The  little 
memorials  of  her,  which  her  mother  had  given  to  me,  as 
in  particular,  a  pair  of  her  red  morocco  shoes,  won  not  a 
sigh  from  me  as  I  looked  at  them  :  even  her  little  grassy 
grave,  white  with  snow,  when  I  returned  to  Grasmere  in 
January,  1813,  v/as  looked  at  almost  with  indiiference  ; 
except,  indeed,  as  now  become  a  memorial  to  me  of  that 


MRS.  HANNAH   MORE.  —  MRS.   SIDDONS.  219 

dire  internal  physical  convulsion  thence  arising,  by  which 
I  had  been  shaken  and  wrenched  ;  and,  in  short,  a  case 
more  entirely  realizing  the  old  Pagan  superstition  of  a 
nympholepsy  in  the  first  place,  and,  secondly,  of  a  Lethe 
or  river  of  oblivion,  and  the  possibility,  by  one  draught 
from  this  potent  stream,  of  applying  an  everlasting  ablu- 
tion to  all  the  soils  and  stains  of  human  anguish,  I  do  not 
suppose  the  psychological  history  of  man  affords. 

From  the  Lakes,  as  I  have  mentioned  before,  I  went 
annually  southwards  —  chiefly  to  Somersetshire  or  to  Lon- 
don, and  more  rarely  to  Edinburgh.  In  my  Somersetshire 
visits,  I  never  failed  to  see  Mrs.  Hannah  More.  My  own 
relative's  house,  in  fact,  standing  within  one  mile  of  Bar- 
ley Wood,  I  seldom  suffered  a  week  to  pass  without  calling 
to  pay  my  respects.  There  was  a  stronger  motive  to  this 
than  simply  what  arose  from  Mrs.  H.  More's  company,  or 
even  from  that  of  her  sisters,  (one  or  two  of  whom  were 
more  entertaining  because  more  filled  with  animal  spirits 
and  less  thoughtful  than  Mrs.  Hannah  ;)  for  it  rarely  hap- 
pened that  one  called  within  the  privileged  calling  hours, 
which,  with  these  rural  ladies,  ranged  between  twelve 
and  four  o'clock,  but  one  met  some  person  interesting  by 
rank,  station,  political  or  literary  eminence. 

Here,  accordingly,  it  was,  that,  during  one  of  my  last 
visits  to  Somersetshire,  either  in  1813  or  1814,  I  met  Mrs. 
Siddons,  whom  T  had  often  seen  upon  the  stage,  but  never 
before  in  private  society.  She  had  come  into  this  part  of 
the  country  chiefly,  I  should  imagine,  with  a  view  to  the 
medical  advice  at  the  Bristol  Hot  Wells  and  Clifton  ;  for  it 
happened  that  one  of  her  daughters  —  a  fine  interesting 
young  woman  —  was  suffering  under  pulmonary  con- 
sumption—  that  scourge  of  the  British  youth;  of  which 
malady,  I  believe,  she  ultimately  died.  From  the  Hot 
Wells,  Mrs.  Siddons  had  been  persuaded  to  honor  with  her 


220  LITEBARY    REBIINISCENCES. 

company  a  certain  Dr.  Wh ,  whose  splendid  villa  of 

Mendip  Lodge  stood  about  tv.o  miles  from  Barley  Wood. 
This  villa,  by  the  way,  was  a  show  place,  in  which  a  vast 
deal  of  money  had  been  sunk,  upon  two  follies  equally 
unproductive  of  pleasure  to  the  beholder  and  of  anything 
approaching  a  pecuniary  compensation  to  the  owner.  The 
villa,  with  it  embellishments,  was  supposed  to  have  cost 
at  least  sixty  thousand  pounds  ;  of  which  one-half  had  been 
absorbed,  partly  by  a  contest  with  the  natural  obstacles 
of  the  situation,  and  partly  by  the  frailest  of  all  orna- 
ments—  vast  china  jars,  vases,  and  other  '  knicknackery ' 
baubles,  which  held  their  very  existence  by  so  frail  a 
tenure  as  the  carefulness  of  a  housemaid ;  and  which,  at 
all  events,  if  they  should  survive  the  accidents  of  life, 
never  are  known  to  reproduce  to  the  possessor  one-tenth 
part  of  what  they  have  cost.  Out  of  doors  there  were 
terraces  of  a  mile  \ong,  one  rising  above  another,  and  car- 
ried, by  mere  artifice  of  mechanic  skill,  along  the  perpen- 
dicular face  of  a  lofty  rock.  Had  they,  when  finished,  any 
particular  beauty  ?  Not  at  all.  Considered  as  a  pleasure 
ground,  they  formed. a  far  less  delighful  landscape,  and  a 
far  less  alluring  haunt  to  rambling  steps,  than  most  of  the 
uncostly  shrubberies  which  were  seen  below,  in  unpre- 
tending situations,  and  upon  the  ordinary  level  of  the 
vale.  What  a  record  of  human  imbecility  !  For  all  his 
pains  and  his  expense  in  forming  this  costly  '  folly,'  his 
reward  was  daily  anxiety,  and  one  solitary  ho7i  mot  which 
he  used  to  record  of  some  man,  who,  on  being  asked  by 
the  Rev.  Doctor  what  he  thought  of  his  place,  replied, 
that  '  He  thought  the  Devil  had  tempted  him  up  to  an 
exceedingly  high  place.'  No  part  of  the  grounds,  nor  the 
house  itself,  was  at  all  the  better  because,  originally,  it 
had  been,  beyond  measure,  difficult  to  form  it :  so  difficult 
that,  according  to  Dr.  Johnson's  witty  remark,  on  another 


MRS.    SIDDONS.  221 

occasion,  there  was  good  reason  for  wishing  that  it  had 
been  impossible.  The  owner,  whom  I  knew,  most  cer- 
tainly never  enjoyed  a  happy  day  in  this  costly  creation ; 
which,  after  all,  displayed  but  little  taste,  though  a  gor- 
geous array  of  finery.  The  show  part  of  the  house  was 
itself  a  monument  to  the  barrenness  of  invention  in  him 
who  planned  it ;  consisting,  as  it  did,  of  one  long  suite  of 
rooms  in  a  straight  line,  without  variety,  without  obvious 
parts,  and  therefore  without  symmetry  or  proportions. 
This  long  vista  was  so  managed  that,  by  means  of  folding- 
doors,  the  whole  could  be  seen  at  a  glance,  whilst  its 
extent  was  magnified  by  a  vast  mirror  at  the  further  end. 
The  Doctor  was  a  querulous  old  man,  enormously  tall 
and  enormously  bilious ;  so  that  he  had  a  spectral  appear- 
ance when  pacing  through  the  false  gaieties  of  his  glitter- 
ing villa.  He  was  a  man  of  letters,  and  had  known  Dr. 
Johnson,  whom  he  admired  prodigiously  ;  and  had  himself 
been,  in  earlier  days,  the  author  of  a  poem  now  forgotten. 
He  belonged,  at  one  period,  to  the  coterie  of  Miss  Seward, 
Dr.  Darwin,  Day,  Mr.  Edgeworth,  &c. ;  consequently  he 
might  have  been  an  agreeable  companion,  having  so  much 
anecdote  at  his  command :  but  his  extreme  biliousness 
made  him  irritable  in  a  painful  degree,  and  impatient  of 
contradiction  —  impatient  even  of  dissent  in  the  most 
moderate  shape.  The  latter  stage  of  his  life  is  worth 
recording,  as  a  melancholy  comment  upon  the  blindness 
of  human  foresight,  and  in  some  degree  also  as  a  lesson 
on  the  disappointments  which  follow  any  departure  from 
high  principle,  and  the  deception  which  seldom  fails  to 
lie  in  ambush  for  the  deceiver.  I  had  one  day  taken  the 
liberty  to  ask  him  why,  and  with  what  ultimate  purpose, 
he  who  did  not  like  trouble  and  anxiety,  had  embarrassed 
himself  with  the  planning  and  construction  of  a  villa  that 
manifestly  embittered  his   days  ?     '  That  is,   my  young 


222 


LITERARY     REMINISCENCES. 


friend,'  r  plied  the  doctor,  'speaking  plainly,  you  mean 
to  express  your  wonder  that  I,  so  old  a  man,  (for  he  was 
then  not  far  from  seventy,)  should  spend  my  time  in 
creating  a  show-box.  Well  now,  I  will  tell  you :  pre- 
cisely because  I  am  old.  I  am  naturally  of  a  gloomy 
turn  ;  and  it  has  always  struck  me,  that  we  English,  who 
are  constitutionally  haunted  by  melancholy,  are  too  apt  to 
encourage  it  by  the  gloomy  air  of  the  mansions  we  inhabit. 
Your  fortunate  age,  my  friend,  can  dispense  with  such 
aids :  ours  require  continual  influxes  of  pleasure  through 
the  senses,  in  order  to  cheat  the  stealthy  advances  of  old 
age,  and  to  beguile  us  of  our  sadness.  Gaiety,  the  riant 
style  in  everything,  that  is  what  we  old  men  need.  And 
I,  who  do  not  love  the  pains  of  creating,  love  the  creation ; 
and,  in  fact,  require  it  as  part  of  my  artillery  against 
time.' 

Such  was  the  amount  of  his  explanation  :  and  now,  in 
a  few  words,  for  his  subsequent  history.  Finding  himself 
involved  in  difficulties  by  the  expenses  of  this  villa,  going 
on  concurrently  with  a  large  London  establishment,  he 
looked  out  for  a  good  marriage,  (being  a  widower,)  as 
the  sole  means,  within  his  reach,  for  clearing  off  his 
embarrassments,  without  proportionable  curtailment  of 
his  expenses.  It  happened,  unhappily  for  both  parlies, 
that  he  fell  in  with  a  widow  lady,  who  was  cruising  about 
the  world  with  precisely  the  same  views,  and  in  precisely 
the  same  difficulties.  Each  (or  the  friends  of  each)  held 
out  a  false  flag,  magnifying  their  incomes  respectively, 
and  sinking  the  embarrassments.  Mutually  deceived, 
they  married:  and  one  change  immediately  introduced 
at  the  splendid  villa  was,  the  occupation  of  an  entire 
wing  by  a  lunatic  brother  of  the  lady's;  the  care  of 
■whom,  with  a  large  allowance,  had  been  committed  to 
her  by  the  Court  of  Chancery.     This,  of  itself,  shed  a 


MRS.    SIDDONS.  223 

gloom  over  the  place  which  defeated  the  primary  purpose 
of  tlie  doctor  (as  explained  by  himself)  in  erecting  it. 
Windows  barred,  maniacal  howls,  gloomy  attendants, 
from  a  lunatic  hospital,  ranging  about  :  these  were  sad 
disturbances  to  the  doctor's  rose-leaf  system  of  life. 
This,  however,  if  it  were  a  nuisance,  brought  along  with 
it  some  solatium,  as  the  lawyers  express  it,  in  the  shape 
of  the  Chancery  allowance.  But  next  came  the  load  of 
debts  for  which  there  was  no  solatium,  and  which  turned 
out  to  be  the  only  sort  of  possession  with  which  the  lady 
was  well  endowed.  The  disconsolate  doctor  —  an  old 
man,  and  a  clergyman  of  the  establishment  —  could  not 
resort  to  such  redress  as  a  layman  might  have  adopted  : 
he  was  obliged  to  give  up  all  his  establishments  ;  his  gay 
villa  vvas  otfcred  to  Queen  Caroline,  who  would,  perhaps, 
have  bought  it,  but  that  her  final  troubles  in  this  world 
were  also  besetting  her  about  that  very  time.  For  the 
present,  therefore,  the  villa  was  shut  up,  and  '  left  alone 
with  its  glory.'  The  reverend  and  aged  proprietor,  now 
ten  times  more  bilious  and  more  querulous  than  ever, 
shipped  himself  off  for  France  ;  and  there,  in  one  of  the 
southern  provinces  —  so  far,  therefore,  as  climate  was 
concerned,  realizing  his  vision  of  gaiety,  but  for  all  else 
in  the  most  melancholy  of  exiles  —  sick  of  the  world  and 
of  himself,  hating  to  live,  yet  more  intensely  hating  tb 
die,  in  a  short  time  the  unhappy  old  man  breathed  his 
last,  in  a  common  lodging-house,  gloomy  and  vulgar,  and 
in  all  things  the  very  antithesis  to  that  splendid  abode 
which  he  had  planned  for  the  consolation  of  his  melan- 
choly, and  for  the  gay  beguilement  of  old  age. 

At  this  gentleman's  villa,  Mrs.  Siddons  had  been 
paying  a  visit;  for  the  doctor  was  a  worshipper,  in  a 
servile  degree,  of  all  things  which  flourished  in  the 
sunshine    of  the  world's   applause.     To   have   been  the 


224  LITERARY   REMINISCENCES. 

idolized  favorite  of  nations,  to  have  been  an  honored  and 
even  a  privileged*  guest  at  Windsor,  that  was  enough 
for  him  ;  and  he  did  his  utmost  to  do  the  honors  of  his 
neighborhood,  not  less  to  glorify  himself  in  the  eye  of 
the  country,  who  was  fortunate  enough  to  have  such  a 
guest,  than  to  show  his  respect  for  the  distinguished 
visiter.  Mrs.  Siddons  felt  herself  flattered  by  the  worthy 
doctor's  splendid  hospitalities ;  for  that  they  were  really 
splendid,  may  be_  judged  by  this  fact,  communicated  to 
me  by  Hannah  More,  viz.,  that  the  Bishop  of  London, 
(Porteus,)  when  on  a  visit  to  Barley  Wood,  being  much 
pressed  by  the  doctor  to  visit  him,  had  at  length  accepted 
a  dinner  invitation.  Mrs.  Hannah  More  was,  of  course, 
included  in  the  invitation,  but  had  found  it  impossible  to 
attend,  from  ill  health  ;  and  the  next  morning,  at  break- 
fast, the  bishop  had  assured  her,  that,  in  all  his  London 
experience,  in  that  city  of  magnificent  dinners  beyond  all 
other  cities  of  the  earth,  and  amongst  the  princes  of  the 
land,  he  had  never  witnessed  an  entertainment  so  perfect 
in  its  appointments.  Gratified  as  she  was,  however,  by 
her  host's  homage,  as  expressed  in  his  splendid  style  of 
entertaining,  Mrs.  Siddons  was  "evidently  more  happy  in 
her  residence  at  Barley  Wood.  The  style  of  conversa- 
tion pleased  her.  It  was  religious  :  but  Mrs.  Siddons  was 
herself  religious ;  and  at  that  moment,  when  waiting  with 
anxiety  upon  a  daughter  whose  languor  seemed  but  too 
ominous  in  her  maternal  eyes,  she  was  more  than  usually 
open  to  religious  impressions,  and  predisposed  to  religious 


*  '  A  privileged  guest  at  Windsor.'  Mrs.  Siddons  used  to  mention, 
that  wFien  she  was  invited  to  Windsor  Castle,  for  the  purpose  of  reading 
before  the  Q,ueen  and  her  royal  daughters,  on  her  first  visit,  she  was 
ready  to  sink  from  weariness  under  the  effort  of  standing  for  so  long  a 
time  ;  but  on  some  subsequent  visit,  I  have  understood  that  she  was  al- 
lowed to  sit,  probably  on  the  suggestion  of  one  of  the  younger  ladies. 


MKS.    SIDDONS. 


225 


topics.  Certain  I  am,  however,  from  what  1  then  ob- 
served, that  Mrs.  Siddons,  in  common  with  many  women 
of  rank  who  were  on  the  Hst  of  the  Barley  Wood  visiters, 
did  not  apprehend,  in  their  full  sense  and  severity,  the 
peculiar  principles  of  Hannah  More.  This  lady,  excel- 
lent as  she  was,  and  incapable  of  practising  any  studied 
deceit,  had,  however,  an  instinct  of  worldly  wisdom, 
which  taught  her  to  refrain  from  shocking  ears  polite  with 
too  harsh  or  too  broad  an  exposure  of  all  which  she 
believed.  This,  at  least,  if  it  were  any  duty  of  hers,  she 
considered,  perhaps,  as  already  fulfilled  by  her  writings  ; 
and,  moreover,  the  very  tone  of  good  breeding,  which 
she  had  derived  from  the  good  company  she  had  kept, 
made  her  feel  the  impropriety  of  lecturing  her  visiters 
even  when  she  must  have  thought  them  in  error.  Mrs. 
Siddons  obviously  thought  Hannah  More  a  person  who 
differed  from  the  world  chiefly  by  applying  a  greater 
energy,  and  sincerity,  and  zeal,  to  a  system  of  religious 
truth  equally  known  to  all.  Repentance,  for  instance  — 
all  people  hold  that  to  be  a  duty ;  and  Mrs.  Hannah  More 
differed  from  them  only  by  holding  it  to  be  a  duty  of  all 
hours,  a  duty  for  youth  not  less  than  for  age.  But  how 
much  would  she  have  been  shocked  to  hear  that  Mrs. 
Hannah  More  held  all  repentance,  however  indispensable, 
yet  in  itself,  and  though  followed  by  the  sincerest  efforts 
at  reformation  of  life,  to  be  utterly  unavailing  as  any 
operative  part  of  the  means  by  which  man  gains  accept- 
ance with  God.  To  rely  upon  repentance,  or  upon  any- 
thing that  man  can  do  for  himself,  that  Mrs.  Hannah 
More  considered  as  the  mortal  taint,  as  the  tiquitov  'FivSu; 
in  the  worldly  theories  of  the  Christian  scheme  ;  and  I 
have  heard  the  two  ladies  —  Mi's.  More  and  Mrs.  Siddons, 
I  mean  —  talking  by  the  hour  together,  as  completely  at 
cross  purposes  as  it  is  possible  to  imagine.  Everything 
VOL.  ir.  15 


226  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

in  fact,  of  what  was  special  in  the  creed  adopted  by  Mrs. 
Hannah  More,  by  Wilberforce,  and  many  others  known 
as  evangelical  Christians,  is  always  capable,  in  lax  con- 
versation, of  being  translated  into  a  vague  general  sense, 
which  completely  obscures  the  true  limitations  of  the 
meaning. 

Mrs.  Hannah  More,  however,  was  too  polished  a  woman 
to  allow  of  any  sectarian  movement  being  impressed  upon 
the  conversation  ;  consequently,  she  soon  directed  it  to 
literature,  upon  which  Mrs.  Siddons  was  very  amusing, 
from  her  recollections  of  Dr.  Johnson,  whose  fine-turned 
compliment  to  herself,  (so  much  in  the  spirit  of  those 
unique  compliments  addressed  to  eminent  people  by 
Louis  XIV.)  had  for  ever  planted  the  doctor's  memory 
in  her  heart.  She  spoke  also  of  Garrick  and  of  Mrs. 
Garrick ;  but  not,  I  think,  with  so  much  respect  and 
affection  as  Mrs.  Hannah  More,  who  had,  in  her  youthful 
days,  received  the  most  friendly  attentions  from  both, 
though  coming  forward  at  that  time  In  no  higher  char- 
acter than  as  the  author  of  Percy,  the  most  insipid  of 
tragedies.  Mrs.  Siddons  was  prevailed  on  to  read  pas- 
sages from  both  Shakspeare  and  Milton.  The  dramatic 
readings  were  delightful ;  in  fact,  they  were  almost  stage 
rehearsals,  accompanied  with  appropriate  gesticulation. 
One  was  the  grpat  somnambulist  scene  in  Macbeth,  which 
was  the  ne  phis  ultra  in  the  whole  range  of  Mrs.  Siddons's 
scenical  exhibitions,  and  can  never  be  forgotten  by  any 
man  who  once  had  the  happiness  to  witness  that  immortal 
performance  of  the  divine  artist.  Another,  given  at  the 
request  of  a  Dutch  lady,  residing  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Barley  Wood,  ^vas  the  scene  from  King  John,  of  the  Lady 
Constance,  beginning  — '  Gone  to  be  married !  gone  to 
swear  a  peace  \ '  &c.  The  last,  and  truly  superb  for  the 
musical  intonation  of  the  cadences,  was  that  inimitable 


MRS.    SIDDONS.  227 

apology  or  pleading  of  Christian  charity  for  Cardinal 
VVolsey,  addressed  to  his  bitterest  enemy,  Queen  Cathe- 
rine. All  these,  in  different  degrees  and  different  ways, 
were  exquisite.  But  the  readings  from  Milton  were  not 
to  my  'taste.  And,  some  weeks  after,  when,  at  IMrs. 
Hannah  More's  request,  I  had  read  to  her  some  of  Lord 
Byron's  most  popular  works,  I  got  her  to  acknowledge,  in 
then  speaking  upon  the  subject  of  reading,  that  perhaps 
the  style  of  Mrs.  Siddons's  reading  had  been  too  much 
determined  to  the  dramatic  cast  of  emphasis,  and  the 
pointed  expression  of  character  and  situation  which  must 
always  belong  to  a  speaker  bearing  a  part  in  a  dialogue, 
to  admit  of  her  assuming  the  tone  of  a  rapt  poetic  inspi- 
ration. 

Meantime,  whatever  she  did  —  whether  it  were  in 
display  of  her  own  matchless  talents,  but  always  at  the 
earnest  request  of  the  company  or  of  her  hostess  —  or 
whether  it  were  in  gentle  acquiescent  attention  to  the 
display  made  by  otjiers  —  or  whether  it  were  as  one 
member  of  a  general  party,  taking  her  part  occasionally, 
for  the  amusement  of  the  rest,  and  contributing  to  the 
general  fund  of  social  pleasure  —  nothing  could  exceed 
the  amiable,  kind,  and  unassuming  deportment  of  Mrs. 
Siddons.  She  had  retired  from  the  stage,*  and  no  longer 
regarded  herself  as  a  public  character.  But  so  much  the 
stronger  did  she  seem  to  think  the  claims  of  her  friends 
upon  anything  she  could  do  for  their  amusement. 

Meantime,  amongst  the  many  pleasurable  impressions 


*  I  saw  her,  however,  myself  upon  the  stage  twice  after  this  meeting 
at  Barley  Wood ;  it  was  at  Edinburgh  ;  and  the  parts  were  those  of 
Lady  Macbeth  and  Lady  Randolph.  But  she  then  performed  only  as 
an  expression  of  kindness  to*  her  grandchildren.  Professor  Wilson  and 
myself  saw  her  on  the  occasion  from  the  stage-box,  with  a  delight  em- 
bittered by  the  certainty  that  we  saw  her  for  the  last  time. 


228  LITERARY     REMINISCENCES. 

which  Mrs.  Siddons's  presence  never  failed  to  make,  there 
was  one  which  was  positively  painful  and  humiliating :  it 
was  the  degradation  which  it  inflicted  upon  other  women. 
One  day  there  was  a  large  dinner  party  at  Barley  Wood 
—  Mrs.  Siddons  was  present ;  and  I  remarked  to  a  gen- 
tleman who  sat  next  to  me  —  a  remark  which  he  heartily 
confirmed  —  that  upon  rising  to  let  the  ladies  leave  us, 
Mrs.  Siddons,  by  the  mere  necessity  of  her  regal  deport- 
ment, figure,  manner,  air,  without  meaning  it,  absolutely 
dwarfed  the  whole  party,  and  made  them  look  ridiculous ; 
though  Mrs.  H.  More,  and  others  of  the  ladies  present, 
were  otherwise  really  women  of  very  pleasing  appearance. 
One  final  remark  is  forced  upon  me  by  my  recollec- 
tions of  Mrs.  Jordan,  and  of  her  most  unhappy  end ;  it  is 
this;  and  strange  enough  it  seems: — That  the  child  of 
laughter  and  comic  mirth,  whose  laugh  itself  thrilled  the 
heart  with  pleasure,  and  who  created  gaiety  of  the 
noblest  order  for  one  entire  generation  of  her  country- 
men, died  prematurely,  and  in  exjle,  and  in  affliction, 
which  really  killed  her  by  its  own  stings.  If  ever  woman 
died  of  a  broken  heart,  of  tenderness  bereaved,  and  of 
hope  deferred,  that  woman  was  Mrs.  Jordan.  On  the 
other  hand,  this  sad  votary  of  Melpomene,  the  queen  of 
the  tragic  stage,  died,  full  of  years  and  honors,  in  the 
bosom  of  her  admiring  country,  in  the  centre  of  idolizing 
friends,  and  happy  in  all  things  except  this,  that  some  of 
those  whom  she  most  loved  on  earth  had  gone  before  her. 
Strange  contrariety  of  lots  for  the  two  transcendent 
daughters  of  the  comic  and  tragic  muse.  For  my  own 
part,  I  shall  always  regard  my  recollections  of  Mrs. 
Siddons  as  those  in  which  chiefly  I  have  an  advantage 
over  the  coming  generation ;  nay,  perhaps,  over  all 
generations ;  for  many  centuries  may  revolve  without 
producing  such  another  transcendent  creature. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

WALKING  STEWART.  —  EDWARD  IRVING.  —  WILLIAM 
WORDSWORTH. 

In  London,  for  a  space  of  fifteen  or  twenty  years,  the 
most  interesting  by  far  of  all  my  friends,  and,  singly,  a 
sufficient  magnet  to  draw  me  in  that  direction,  sometimes 
when  I  had  no  other  motive  for  such  a  journey,  was  the 
celebrated  Peripatetic,  John  Stewart,  commonly  called 
'  Walking  Stewart.'  This  man  was  indeed,  in  many 
respects,  a  more  interesting  person  than  any  I  have 
known,  amongst  those  distinguished  by  accomplishments 
of  the  same  kind.  He  was  by  birth  a  Scotsman  :  but  it 
was  little  indeed  that  he  owed  to  the  land  of  his  nativity ; 
for  he  had  been  early  turned  adrift,  and  thrown  altogether 
upon  his  own  resources.  At  school,  as  he  often  told  me 
with  high  glee,  and  even  with  something  of  gratified 
vanity  in  the  avowal,  no  boy  except  himself  was  consid- 
ered an  invincible  dunce,  or  what  is  sometimes  called  a 
Bergen-op-zoom ;  that  is,  a  head  impregnable  to  all 
teaching  and  all  impressions  that  could  be  conveyed 
through  books.  Erudition,  in  fact,  and  classical  or  philo- 
logical learning  of  every  kind,  he  thoroughly  despised; 
nor  could  he  have  been  won  by  kindness  even  to  take 
»an  interest  in  studies  from  which  his  mind  naturally 
revolted;  and  thus,  like  many  a  boy  before  him,  he 
obtained  the  reputation  of  a  dunce,  merely  because  his 


230  LITEKAKY    REBIINISCENCES. 

powers  were  never  called  into  action  or  tried  amongst 
tasks  in  which  he  took  any  genial  delight.  Yet  this  same 
scoffing-stock  of  the  school,  when  summoned  away  to  the 
tasks  of  life,  dealing  with  subjects  that  interested  his 
feelings,  and  moving  in  an  element  for  which  his  natural 
powers  had  qualified  him,  displayed  the  energetic  origi- 
nality of  genius.  He  went  out  to  Bengal  as  a  servant  of 
the  Company,  in  a  civil  capacity,  and,  for  some  time,  was 
viewed  both  as  an  aspiring  young  man  and  as  a  young 
man  of  great  promise  :  but,  suddenly,  some  strong 
scruples  of  conscience  seized  him,  with  regard  to  the  ten- 
ure of  the  Company's  Indian  empire,  and  to  the  mode 
in  which  it  was  administered.  Simply  upon  the  impulse 
of  these  scruples,  doubtless  ill-founded,  he  quitted  the 
Company's  service  and  entered  that  of  a  native  prince  — 
I  think  the  Nawaub  of  Arcot :  him  he  served  in  the  office 
of  secretary.  And,  finally,  quitting  this  service  also, 
chiefly,  I  conjecture,  because  the  instinct  of  migration 
and  of  rambling  was  strong  upon  him,  he  commenced 
that  long  course  of  pedestrian  travelling  which  thence- 
forwards  occupied  the  active  years  of  his  life  :  in  fact, 
from  perhaps  the  age  of  twenty-three  to  fifty-eight  or 
sixty.  A  navigator  who  has  accomplished  the  periplus 
(tteoi/iAhc)  of  the  globe,  we  call  a  circumnavigator ;  and, 
by  parity  of  reason,  we  might  call  a  man  in  the  circum- 
stances of  Mr.  Stewart,  viz.,  one  who  has  walked  round 
the  terra  jirma  of  the  globe,  from  Kamtschatka  to 
Paraguay,  and  from  Paraguay  to  Lapland,  a  circum- 
peripatetic,  (or,  if  the  reader  objects  to  this  sort  of 
tautology  in  the  circum  and  the  peri,  a  circumnamhilator.) 
A  terrestrial  globe,  representing  the  infinite  wanderings 
of  Mr.  Stewart,  would  have  seemed  belted  and  zoned  in  ■ 
all  latitudes,  like  a  Ptolemaic  globe  of  the  heavens,  with 
cycles  and  epicycles,  approaching,    crossing,  traversing, 


WALKING    STEWART.  231 

coinciding,  receding.  No  region,  pervious  to  human  feet, 
except,  I  think,  China  and  Japan,  but  had  been  visited 
by  Mr.  Stewart  in  this  philosophic  style  ;  a  style  which 
compels  a  man  to  move  slowly  through  a  country,  and  to 
fall  in  continually  with  the  natives  of  that  country  in  a 
degree  far  beyond  what  is  possible  for  the  traveller  in 
carriages  and  palanquins,*  or  mounted  on  horses,  mules, 
or  camels. 

It  may  be  presumed  of  any  man  who  has  travelled  so 
extensively,  and  has  thrown  himself  so  fearlessly,  for  five 
or  eight  and  thirty  years,  amongst  men  of  all  nations  and 
in  all  degrees  of  civilization,  that  he  must  often  have 
found  himself  in  situations  of  great  and  sudden  danger. 
In  fact.  Walking  Stewart,  like  the  famous  Ledyard,  used 
to  look  back  upon  the  hardships,  the  sufferings,  and  the 
risks  he  had  undergone,  as  too  romantic  for  rehearsal. 
People  would  imagine,  as  he  thought,  that  he  was  using 
the  traveller's  immemorial  privilege  of  embellishing ; 
and  accordingly,  as  one  foremost  feature  in  the  character 
of  John  Stewart,  was  his  noble  reverence  for  truth,  so 
that,  to  have  won  a  universal  interest  with  the  public,  he 
would  not  have  deviated,  by  one  hair's  breadth,  from  the 
severe  facts  of  a  case  ;  for  that  reason  it  was  I'are  that  he 
would  be  persuaded  to  relate  any  part  of  his  adventures 
which  approached  the  marvellous.  Being  so  sincerely 
and  profoundly  veracious,  he  was  jealous  even  of  being 
suspected  to  be  otherwise,  though  it  were  in  a  trifling 
question,  or  by  a  shadow  of  exaggeration.  Yet,  unwilling 
as  he  was  to  report  his  own  adventurous  hazards,  or  the 
escapes  which,   doubtless,   he    often   owed    to   his    own 

*  Dawk-travelling  in  a  palanquin  has  been  so  much  improved  of  lale 
throughout  India,  that  ninety  miles  a  day  may  be  accomplished  in 
favorable  weather ;  and,  if  the  bearers  are  laid  carefully,  one  hundred. 
With  this  velocity,  and  this  seclusion,  little  can  be  seen. 


232  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

address,  courage,  or  presence  of  mind,  one  general 
remark  I  have  often  heard  hhii  make,  and  with  great 
energy  ;  a  remark  abstracted  from  all  his  dangers  collec- 
tively, though  he  would  not  refer  to  them  separately  and 
individually :  it  is  a  remark  which  ought  to  be  put  on 
record  for  the  honor  of  human  nature  ;  and  it  should  be 
viewed  in  the  light  of  a  testimony  given  by  a  witness, 
whose  opportunities  for  collecting  a  fair  evidence  must  far 
have  exceeded  those  of  all  other  men,  making  no  excep- 
tion in  favor  of  any  nation  or  any  century.  His  remark 
was  this  —  that,  although  in  barbarous  countries,  with  no 
police  or  organized  provisions  whatsoever,  for  the  protec- 
tion of  human  life  and  property,  many  violent  and 
licentious  aggressions  would,  doubtless,  be  committed, 
under  circumstances  of  temptation  or  of  provocation, 
upon  the  weak  or  defenceless  stranger ;  yet  that,  in  the 
whole  course  of  his  experience,  he  had  never  known  one 
case  where  the  rudest  savas;e  of  the  wildest  tribes  had 
violated  an  understood  trust  reposed  in  his  forbearance. 
It  was  generally  supposed,  he  said,  that  the  civilized 
traveller  amongst  savages  might  lay  his  account  with 
meeting  unprovoked  violence,  except  in  so  far  as  he 
carried  arms  for  his  protection.  Now,  he  had  found  it 
by  much  the  safer  plan  to  carry  no  arms.  That  he  had 
never  found,  and  did  not  believe  that  in  travels  ten  times 
more  extensive  he  ever  should  have  fouiid,  a  human 
being  so  base  as  to  refuse  (provided  he  could  be  made 
clearly  to  understand)  the  appeal  made  to  his  generosity 
by  a  fellow-being,  in  boldly  throwing  himself  upon  his 
justice  or  hospitality;  and  if  a  different  creed  prevailed 
often  amongst  nautical  people,  it  was  owing  (he  con- 
tended) to  the  extreme  levity  and  thoughtlessness  of 
sailors.  Indeed,  the  records  of  voyages,  and,  very 
recently,  the  records  of  our  new  settlements  in  Australia 


WALKING    STEWART.  233 

teem  with  instances  where  feuds,  through  a  whole  genera- 
tion, (wanton  and  causeless  as  they  may  seem  to  many  of 
those  who  merely  inherit  the  consequences,)  have  been 
originally  provoked  by  a  cruel  or  cowardly  salutation 
from  fire-arms  to  a  party  of  natives,  advancing,  perhaps, 
in  a  tumultuous  manner,  alarming  to  the  timid  or  the 
inexperienced,  but  with  intentions  perfectly  pac-ific. 

Walking  Stewart  was,  in  conversation,  the  most  elo- 
quent man  —  limiting  the  meaning  to  the  eloquence  of 
nature,  unsustained  by  any  range  of  illustration  from 
books  —  that  I  have  ever  known.  Nor  was  I  singular  in 
this  opinion;  for  Mr,  Wordsworth,  the  poet,  said  some- 
thing to  the  same  effect,  in  speaking  of  the  political 
harangues  which  he  was  in  the  habit  of  making  about 
the  time  of  the  French  Revolution.  And  little  as  he 
occupied  himself  with  books  as  a  reader,  by  a  strange 
inversion  of  the  ordinary  human  relations  to  literature,  he 
—  this  rare  and  slight  reader  —  was  largely  connected 
with  books  as  an  author.  Apparently,  he  read  little  or 
nothing  but  what  he  wrote  himself;  books  treating  of 
man,  his  nature,  his  expectations,  and  his  duties,  in  a 
desultory  style  ;  mingling  much  profound  philosophy  with 
many  absurd  or  whimsical  theories  of  physiology,  or 
equally  chimerical  hypotheses  of  health  and  the  modes  of 
preserving  it.  Animal  food  or  wine  he  never  allowed 
himself  to  use  ;  or,  in  fact,  anything  but  the  Brahminical 
diet  of  milk,  fruit,  and  bread.  It  is  saying  little  in  favor 
of  his  system,  to  mention  that  he,  in  his  own  person, 
enjoyed  a  cloudless  health ;  for  so  he  would  have  done 
under  any  diet,  with  the  same  quantity  of  bodily  exercise, 
and  enjoying  the  same  original  hardiness  of  constitution 
and  athletic  frame  of  body.  Latterly,  his  sole  pleasure 
was  music ;  aiid  it  grieved  me  to  find,  therefore,  towards 
the  close  of  his  life,  that  he  was  growing  exceedingly 


234  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

deaf:  but  this  defect  of  hearing  he  remedied  partially  by 
purchasing  an  organ  of  considerable  size  and  power. 

Walking  Stewart  had  purchased,  in  his  younger  days, 
an  annuity,  which,  in  fact,  for  many  years,  constituted  his 
sole   dependence.     The    tables   of  mortality   were   very 
imperfect  at  that  time,  and  the  Insurance  Offices  made 
many  losing  contracts  ;  amongst  which  was  Mr.  Stewart's. 
He  had  long  been  viewed  by  the  office  as  one  of  their 
bad  bargains;  and  he  had  a  playful  malice  in  presenting 
himself   annually   to    establish   his    continued   existence. 
The  office  was  always   in  a  roar  of  laughter  when  he 
made  his  entry  :  for  the  Directors  protested  that  he  had 
already  lived  too  long  by  twenty  years  for  their  interest ; 
and  he,  on  his   part,  ascribing  his  robust  health  to  his 
peculiar  diet,  threatened  them  with  living  at  least  twenty 
years  longer.     He  did,  certainly,  wear  all  the  promise  of 
doing  so ;  for  his  eye  was  as  brilliant  and  his  cheek  as 
fresh  as  those  ef  men  forty  years  younger.     But  he  did 
not  quite  redeem  the  pledges  of  his  appearance.     A  few 
years    before    his   death,   he    gained    an    important    suit 
against  the  East  India  Company.     How  that  should  have 
hastened  his  death,  I  cannot  conjecture  ;  for  so  thoroughly 
had  his  simple  diet  become  necessary  to  his  comfort,  and 
a  matter  of  cordial  preference,  that  no  entreaties  of  a 
friend    would    persuade    him    take   a   glass    of  wine    or 
spirits.     A  man  more  temperate  never  existed,  nor  a  man 
in  all  respects  of  more  philosophic  habits,  or  more  entire 
independence.     I  and  others,  who  would  not  have  insulted 
him  with  the  offer  of  money,  yet,  knowing  at  one  time 
the  extreme  slenderness  of  his  resources,  attempted  to 
send  him  books  and  a  few  other  luxuries,  by  way  of 
relieving  the  weariness  (as  we  feared)  of  his  long  soli- 
tary evenings  in  the  heart  of  tumultuous  London.     But, 
though  taking  our  attentions  kindly,  he  uniformly  repelled 


■WALKING    STEWART, 


235 


them  ;  nor  ever,  in  one  instance,  would  accept  of  any- 
thing that  miglit  bring  his  perfect  independence  into 
question.  He  died  when  I  was  abseW  from  London  ; 
and  I  could  never  learn  the  circumstances  :  for  he  had, 
I  believe,  no  relatives ;  and  his  opulence,  during  the 
latter  years  of  his  life,  would  be  likely  to  throw  him 
into  the  hands  of  strangers.  His  books  are  filled  with 
extravagances  on  all  subjects  ;  and,  to  religious  people, 
they  are  especially  revolting,  by  the  uniform  spirit  of 
contempt  which  he  manifests  for  all  creeds  alike  — 
Christian,  Mahometan,  Buddhist,  Pagan.  In  fact,  he  was 
as  deliberate  and  resolute  an  Atheist  as  can  ever  have 
existed  :  but,  for  all  that,  and  although  wishing,  for  his 
own  sake,  that  he  had  been  a  more  religious  man,  or  at 
least  had  felt  a  greater  reverence  for  such  subjects,  and  a 
closer  sympathy  with  that  which,  for  so  vast  a  majority  of 
the  human  race,  must  ever  constitute  their  sole  consola- 
tion under  sorrow  and  calamity  ;  still  I  could  not  close 
my  eyes  to  the  many  evidences  which  his  writings  and 
his  conversation  afforded  of  a  true  grandeur  of  mind, 
and  of  a  calm  Spinosistic  state  of  contemplative  reverie. 
In  fact,  he  was  half  crazy.  But  his  mind,  like  a  shelPv 
taken  from  the  sea,  still  echoed  and  murmured  to  the  / 
multitudinous  sounds  and  forms  amongst  which  his  I 
former  years  had  been  passed.  The  many  nations' 
amongst  whom  he  had  walked,  '  passing  like  night '  (as 
the  Ancient  Mariner  describes  himself)  '  from  land  to 
land,'  —  the  black  men,  and  the  white  men,  and  the 
'dusk-faces  with  white  silken  turbands  wreathed,'  — 
were  present  for  ever,  and  haunted  his  inner  eye  with 
imagery  of  the  noblest  kind,  and  with  moving  pageant- 
ries, in  the  midst  of  silence  and  years  of  deafness.  He 
was  himself  a  fine  specimen  of  the  animal  Man.  And, 
in  some  directions,  he  was  fine  also  intellectually.     His 


236  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

books,  which  are  past  counting,  ought  to  be  searched,  and 
a  bead-roll  of  fine  thoughts,  or  eloquent  expressions  of 
old  ones,  separated  from  the  eccentric  speculations  with 
which  they  too  often  lie  interwoven.  These  books  con- 
tain, moreover,  some  very  wise  practical  suggestions, 
particularly  as  to  the  mode  of  warfare  adapted  to  the 
British  nation.  And  for  knowledoe  of  national  character 
he  was  absolutely  unrivalled.  Some  time  or  other,  1 
may  myself  draw  up  a  memoir  of  his  life,  and  raise  a 
tribute  to  his  memory  by  a  series  of  extracts  such  as  I 
have  suggested. 

Another  eminent  man  of  our  times,  whom  I  came  to 

know  in  my  later  visits  to  London,  was  the  Rev.  Edward 

Irving ;  and,  in  some  respects,  he  is  naturally  recalled  by 

the  remembrance  of  Walking  Stewart ;  for,  like  him,  he 

had  a  fervid  nature,  a  most  energetic  will,  and  aspirations 

after  something  greater  than  he  could  find  in  life.     Like 

him,  also,  he  owed  not  very  much  to  education  or  study. 

Mr.  Irving,  unfortunately  for  his  own  reputation,  sinned  so 

enormously   against    prudence,   and    indeed   against   all 

sanity  of  mind  during  the  latter  part  of  his  career;  his 

writings  and  his  actions  were  so  equally  indicative  of  an 

unsettled    intellect ;    that,   with    most    people,   this    sad 

revolution  in  his   nature   has   availed   to   extinguish   the 

recollection   of   that  unequalled  splendor  of  appearance 

with  which  he  convulsed  all  London  at  his  first  debut. 

He  was,  unquestionably,  by  many,  many  degrees,  the 

greatest  orator  of  our  times.     Of  him,  indeed,  more  than 

of  any  man  whom  I  have   seen  throughout  my    whole 

experience,  it  might  be  said,  with  truth  and  with  emphasis, 

that  he  was  a  Boanerges,  a  son  of  thunder  ;  and,  in  a 

sense,  even  awful  and  unhappy  for  himself,  it  might  be 

affirmed   that  he   had  a  demon   within  himself.     Doubt 

there  can  now  be  none  that  he  was  insane,  or  partially  so, 


EDWARD   IRVING.  237 

from  the  very  first.     Not  many  weeks  after  his  first  burst 
upon  the  metropohs,  I  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  him  at 
a  dinner  party.     He  was  in  exuberant  spirits;   and  he 
strode  about  the  drawing-room,  before  dinner,  with  the 
air  of  one  wlio  looked  upon  himself  as  clothed  with  the 
functions  of  Jonah  sent  to  Nineveh,  or  of  Paul  upon  a 
celestial  mission  to  the  Gentiles.     He  talked  a  good  deal 
of  phrenology,  and  in  the  tone  of  one  who  had  entirely 
adopted  its  great  leading  doctrines.    My  head,  with  a  very 
slight  apology  for  doing  so,  he   examined  :    his  report, 
being  somewhat  flattering,  I  shall  not  repeat,  further  than 
that  '  conscientiousness'  was  found  in  great  strength,  and 
'veneration,'  which  were  the  chief  moral  indications  that 
he  detected.     We  walked  homewards  together ;  and,  as  it 
happened  that  our  roads  coincided  for  three  miles  or  more, 
we  had  a  good  deal  of  conversation.     In  one  thing  he 
thoroughly  agreed   with   me,  viz.,  in  disliking  common 
literary  society,  by  comparison  with  that  of  people  less 
pretending,  left   more  to  the  impulses  of  their   natural 
unchecked  feelings,  and  entertaining  opinions  less  mod- 
elled upon  what  they  read.     One  ebullition  of  his  own 
native  disposition  was,  however,  not  very  amiable.     Near 
Charing  Cross,  a  poor  houseless  female  vagrant  came  up  - 
to  us  and  asked  charity.     Now,  it  was  in  no  respect  sur- 
prising to  me,  that  Mr.  Irving  should  refuse  to  give  her 
anything,  knowing  that  so  many  excellent  people  system- 
atically set  their  faces  against  street  alms ;  and  a  man, 
the  most  kind-hearted  in  the  world,  whose  resources  are 
limited,  may  very  reasonably  prefer  throwing  whatever 
he  has  at  his  disposal  into  the  channels  of  well  organized 
charitable    institutions.     Not,   therefore,   the  refusal,  but 
the  manner  of  the  refusal,   it  was  which  surprised  me. 
Mr,  Irving  shook  oiF  the  poor  shivering  suppliant,  whose 
manner  was  timid  and  dejected,  with  a  roughness  that 


238  LITERARY  REMINISCENCES. 

would  have  better  become  a  parish  beadle  towards  a  stout 
masterful  beggar,  counterfeiting  the  popular  character  of 
shipwrecked  mariner.  Yet  I  am  far  from  thinking,  or 
wishing  to  insinuate,  that  Edward  Irving  was  deficient  in 
benignity.  It  was  the  overmastering  demoniac  fervor  of 
his  nature,  the  constitutional  riot  in  his  blood,  more  than 
any  harshness  of  disposition,  which  prompted  his  fierce 
refusal. 

It  is  remarkable,  and  I  mention  it  as  no  proof  of  any 
sagacity  of  myself,  but,  on  the  contrary,  as  a  proof  of 
broad  and  palpable  indications,  open  and  legible  to  him 
who  ran,  that  from  what  I  saw  of  Mr.  Edward  Irving  at 
this  first  intei'view,  I  drew  an  augury,  and  immediately 
expressed  it  to  more  than  one  friend  ;  that  he  was  destined 
to  a  melancholy  close  of  his  career,  in  lunacy.  I  drew 
my  judgment  from  the  expression  and  the  peculiar  rest- 
lessness of  his  eye,  combined  with  the  untamable  fervor 
of  his  manner,  and  his  evident  craving  after  intense  states 
of  excitement.  I  believe  that  public  applause,  or  at  least 
public  sympathy  with  his  own  agitated  condition  of  feel- 
ing, and  public  attention,  at  any  rate  to  himself,  as  a  great 
moral  power  thundering  and  lightening  through  the  upper 
regions  of  the  London  atmosphere,  really  became  indis- 
pensable to  his  comfort.  The  effect  of  his  eloquence,  great 
as  that  certainly  was,  had  been  considerably  exaggerated 
to  the  general  estimate,  by  the  obstacles  opposed  to  the 
popular  curiosity,  in  the  mere  necessities  of  the  narrow 
chapel  within  which  he  preached.  Stories  of  carriage 
panels  beaten  in,  chapel  windows  beaten  out,  as  en- 
trances for  ladies  of  rank  and  distinguished  senators  — 
such  stories  to  awaken  the  public  interest,  and  then  (as 
consequences  of  that  interest,  which  reacted  to  sustain  and 
widen  it)  stories  of  royal  princesses,  lord  chancellors,  and 
prime  ministers,  going,  in  spite  of  all  difiiculties,  to  hear 


EDWARD    IRVING. 


239 


the  new  apostle  of  the  North  —  these  things  procured  for 
Mr.  Irving,  during  the  early  novitiate  of  his  London 
career,  if  not  great  audiences,  (which,  numerically  speak- 
ing, his  chapel  would  not  have  admitted,)  yet  so  memo- 
rable a  conflict  of  competition  for  the  small  space  available 
to  those  who  had  no  private  right  of  admission,  that 
inevitably  the  result  was  misunderstood,  or,  at  least, 
misappreciated  by  the  public.  The  smaller  was  the 
disposable  accommodation,  so  much  the  hotter  was  the 
contest :  and  thus  a  small  chapel,  and  a^small  congregation 
told  more  effectually  in  his  favor,  more  emphatically 
proclaimed  his  sudden  popularity,  than  the  largest  could 
have  done.  Meantime,  the  presbytery,  availing  them- 
selves of  the  sudden  enthusiasm  called  into  life  by  this 
splendid  meteor,  collected  large  subscriptions-  for  a  new 
chapel.  This  being  built  upon  a  scale  proportioned  to 
the  money,  offered  ample  accommodation  to  the  public 
curiosity.  That  feeling  could  not  wholly  have  subsided  ; 
but  many,  like  Wilberforce,  had  found  themselves  suffi- 
ciently gratified  by  a  single  experience  of  Mr.  Irving's 
powers;  others,  upon  principle,  were  unwilling  to  leave 
their  old  pastors — not  to  mention  that,  for  the  majority, 
this  would  have  involved  a  secession  from  the  particular 
creed  to  which  they  adhered ;  and,  when  deductions  were 
made  frpm  ]\Ir.  Irving's  audiences,  upon  these  and  other 
accounts,  those  who  still  went  as  extra  auditors  were  no 
longer  numerous  enough,  now  that  they  were  diffused 
through  a  large  chapel,  to  create  the  former  tumultuous 
contests  for  admission. 

The  enthusiasm  of  the  public  had  now  subsided  and 
settled  into  a  condition  more  uniform,  and  no  longer 
capable  of  holding  up  a  mirror  which  reflected  Mr. 
Irving's  own  intense  state  of  exaltation.  It  was  the  state 
of  collapse  whicli  succeeded   in  his   mind,  the  want  of 


240  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

correspondence  which  he  found  between  the  public  zeal 
to  be  taught  or  moved,  and  his  own  to  teach  or  move  ;  this 
it  was,  I  can  hardly  doubt,  which  drove  him  into  those 
crazy  speculations  which  eventually  cost  him  the  general 
respect,  and  led  to  an  open  breach  between  himself  and 
the  trustees  for  the  management  of  the  property  embarked 
upon  the  chapel.  Unable  to  win  the  popular  astonish- 
ment by  the  legitimate  display  of  his  extraordinary  powers, 
he  attempted  to  secure  the  same  end  by  extravagance. 
The  whole  extent  of  this  extravagance,  it  is  true  that  he 
did  not  perceive;  for  his  mind  was  unhinged.  But  still  the 
insanity,  which  had  preyed  upon  him  from  the  very  first, 
lay  more  in  his  moral  nature  and  in  a  disease  of  his  will 
than  in  the  functions  of  his  intellect.  Disappointment, 
vexation  of  heart,  wounded  pride,  and  latterly,  perhaps, 
some  tinge  of  remorse  for  the  abuse  which  he  had  made 
of  his  magnificent  endowments,  all  combined,  with  the 
constitutional  fever  in  his  blood,  to  sap  his  health  and 
spirits.  That  he  was  very  unhappy,  latterly,  I  have  no 
doubt;  nor  was  I,  for  my  part,  ever  called  upon  to  feel  so 
powerfully  the  conviction  that  here  was  a  ruined  man  of 
genius,  and  a  power  in  the  first  rank  of  great  moral 
agencies,  an  orator  the  most  Demosthenic  of  our  age, 
descending  rapidly  to  night  and  utter  extinction,  as  during 
the  whole  latter  years  of  Edward  Irving's  troubled  ex- 
istence. I  am  not  singular  in  my  estimate  of  him  as  an 
orator :  —  Mr.  Canning,  a  most  accomplished  orator  him- 
self, and,  as  a  great  artist,  the  first  orator  of  our  tirnes, 
but  perhaps,  for  that  very  reason,  less  likely  to  do  full 
justice  in  a  case  of  power  that  was  altogether  natural,  and 
no  way  indebted  to  art,  even  he  (when  visiting  Mr.  Bolton 
of  Storrs,  on  Windermere)  said  something  very  nearly  ap- 
proaching to  what  I  have  here  said.  I  did  not  hear  it 
myself;  but  I  afterwards  heard  it  from  many  who  did. 


WILLIAM    WORDSWORTH,  241 

He  was  the  only  man  of  our  times  who  realized  one's  idea 
of  Paul  preaching  at  Athens,  or  defending  himself  before 
King  Agrippa.  Terrific  meteor  !  unhappy  son  of  fervid 
genius,  which  mastered  diyself  even  more  that  the  rapt 
audiences  which  at  one  time  hung  upon  thy  lips !  were 
the  cup  of  life  once  again  presented  to  thy  lips,  wouldst 
thou  drink  again  ;  or  would  thou  not  rather  turn  away 
from  it  with  shuddering  abomination  ?  Sleep,  Boanerges  ! 
and  let  the  memory  of  man  settle  only  upon  thy  colossal 
powers,  without  a  thought  of  those  intellectual  aberrations 
which  were  more  powerful  for  thy  own  ruin  than  for  the 
misleading  of  others ! 

London,  however,  great  as  were  its  attractions,  did  but 
rarely  draw  me  away  from  Westmoreland.  There  I 
found  more  and  more  a  shelter  and  an  anchor  for  my  own 
wishes.  Originally,  as  I  have  mentioned,  the  motive 
which  drew  me  to  this  country,  in  combination  with  its 
own  exceeding  beauty,  had  been  the  society  of  Words- 
worth. But  in  this  I  committed  a  great  oversight.  Men 
of  extraordinary  genius  and  force  of  mind  are  far  better 
as  objects  for  distant  admiration  than  as  daily  companions; 
—  not  that  I  would  insinuate  anything  to  the  disadvantage 
of  I\lr.  Wordsworth.  What  I  have  to  say  in  the  way  of 
complaint,  shall  be  said  openly  and  frankly  ;  this  is  but 
fair ;  for  insinuations  or  covert  accusations  always  leave 
room  for  misconstruction  and  for  large  exaggeration. 
Mr.  Wordsworth  is  not  only  a  man  of  principle  and 
integrity,  according  to  the  severest  standard  of  such  a 
character,  but  he  is  even  a  man,  in  many  respects,  of 
amiable  manners.  Still  there  are  traits  of  character 
about  him,  and  modes  of  expressing  them  in  his  manners, 
which  make  a  familiar  or  neighborly  intercourse  with  him 
painful  and  mortifying.     Pride,  in  its  most  exalted  form, 

TOL.   II.  16 


242  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

he  was  entitled  to  feel ;  but  something  there  was,  in  the 
occasional  expression  of  this  pride,  which  was  difficult  to 
bear.  Upon  groufid  where  he  was  really  strong,  Words- 
worth was  not  arrogant.  In  a  question  of  criticism,  he 
was  open  to  any  man's  suggestions.  But  there  ivere 
fields  of  thought  or  of  observation  which  he  seemed  to 
think  locked  up  and  sacred  to  himself;  and  any  alien 
entrance  upon  those  fields  he  treated  almost  as  intrusions 
and  usurpations.  One  of  these,  and  which  naturally 
occurred  the  most  frequently,  was  the  whole  theory  of 
picturesque  beauty,  as  presented  to  our  notice  at  every 
minute  by  the  bold  mountainous  scenery  amongst  which 
we  lived,  and  as  it  happened  to  be  modified  by  the  sea- 
sons of  the  year,  by  the  time  of  day,  or  by  the  accidents 
of  light  and  shade.  Now  Wordsworth  and  his  sister  really 
had,  as  I  have  before  acknowledged,  a  peculiar  depth  of 
organic  sensibility  to  the  efi'ects  of  form  and  color ;  and 
to  thejn  I  was  willing  to  concede  a  vote,  such  as,  in  ancient 
Rome,  was  called  a  '  a  prerogative  vote,'  upon  such  ques- 
tions. But,  not  content  with  this,  Wordsworth  virtually 
claimed  the  same  precedency  for  all  who  were  connected 
with  himself,  though  merely  by  affinity,  and  therefore 
standing  under  no  colorable  presumption  (as'  blood  re- 
lations might  have  done)  of  inheriting  the  same  con- 
stitutional gifts  of  organization.  To  everybody,  standing 
out  of  this  sacred  and  privileged  pale,  Wordsworth  behav- 
ed with  absolute  insult  in  cases  of  this  nature  :  he  did  not 
even  appear  to  listen ;  but,  as  if  what  they  said  on  such  a 
theme  must  be  childish  prattle,  turned  away  with  an  air  of 
perfect  indifference  ;  began  talking,  perhaps,  with  another 
person  on  another  subject ;  or,  at  all  events,  never  noticed 
what  we  said,  by  an  apology  for  an  answer.  I,  very 
early  in  our  connection,  having  observed  this  inhuman 
arrogance,  took  care  never  afterwards  to  lay  myself  under 


WILLIAM   WORDSWORTH.  243 

the  possibility  of  such  an  insult.  Systematically  I  avoided 
saying  anything,  however  suddenly  tempted  into  any  ex- 
pression of  my  feelings,  upon  the  natural  appearances, 
whether  in  the  sky  or  on  the  earth.  Thus  I  evaded  one 
cause  of  quarrel ;  and  so  far  Wordsworth  was  not  aware 
of  the  irritation  and  disgust  which  he  had  founded  in  the 
minds  of  his  friends.  But  there  were  other  manifestations 
of  the  same  ungenial  and  exclusive  pride,  even  still  more 
offensive  and  of  wider  application. 

With  other  men,  upon  finding  or  thinking  one's  self  ill- 
used,  all  one  had  to  do  was  to  make  an  explanation ;  and, 
with  any  reasonable  grounds  of  complaint,  or  any  reason- 
able temper  to  manage,  one  was  tolerably  sure  of  redress. 
Not  so  with  Wordsworth ;  he  had  learned  from  Mrs. 
C a  vulgar  phrase  for  all  attempts  at  reciprocal  ex- 
planations —  he  called  them  contemptuously  'fending  and 
proving.''  And  you  might  lay  your  account  with  being 
met  in  limine,  and  further  progress  barred,  by  a  declara- 
tion to  this  effect  — '  Mr.  X  'Y  Z,  I  will  have  nothing  to  do 
with  finding  and  proving.'  This  amounted,  in  other 
words,  to  saying,  that  he  conceived  himself  to  be  liberated 
from  those  obligations  of  justice  and  courtesy  by  which 
other  men  are  bound.  Now,  I  knew  myself  well  enough 
to  be  assured  that,  under  suCh  treatment,  I  should  feel  too 
much  indignation  and  disgust  to  persevere  in  courting  the 
acquaintance  of  a  man  who  thus  avowed  his  contempt  for 
the  laws  of  equal  dealing.  Redress  I  knew  that  I  should 
never  get;  and,  accordingly,  I  reasoned  thus  :  —  'I  have 
been  ill  used  to  a  certain  extent ;  but  do  I  think  that  a 
sufficient  reason  for  giving  up  all  my  intimacy  with  a  man 
like  Wordsworth  ?  If  I  do  not,  let  me  make  no  com- 
plaint;  for,  inevitably,  if  I  do  make  complaint,  that  will  be 
the  result.  For,  though  I  am  able  to  bear  the  particular 
wrong  I  now  complain  of,  yet  I  feel  that  even  from  Words- 


244  LITERARY   REMINISCENCES. 

worth  I  could  not  tolerate  an  open  and  contemptuous 
refusal  of  justice.  The  result,  then,  if  I  pursue  this 
matter,  will  be  to  rob  me  of  Wordsworth's  acquaintance. 
Reparation,  already  necessary  to  my  feelings,  will  then 
become  necessary  to  my  honor :  I  shall  fail  to  obtain  it ; 
and  then  it  will  become  my  duty  to  renounce  his  acquaint- 
ance.    I  will,  therefore,  rest  contentedly  where  I  am.' 

What  then  were  the  cases  of  injustice  which  I  had  to 
complain  of.''  Such  they  were  as  between  two  men  could 
hardly  have  arisen  ;  but  wherever  there  are  women  — 
unless  the  terms  on  which  the  parties  stand  are  most  free 
and  familiar,  so  that  fast  as  clouds  arise  of  misunderstand- 
ing, explanations  may  have  full  leave  to  move  concur- 
rently, and  nothing  be  left  for  either  side  to  muse  upon  as 
wrong,  or  meditated  insult  —  I  hold  it  next  to  impossible 
that  occasions  should  not  arise  in  which  both  parties  will 
suspect  some  undervaluing,  or  some  failure  in  kindness  or 
respect.  I,  to  give  one  example,  had,  for  the  controller  of 
my  domestic  vianege,  a  foolish,  selfish,  and  ignorant  old 
maid.  Naturally,  she  ought  to  have  been  no  enemy  to  the 
Wordsworths,  for  she  had  once  lived  as  a  servant  with 
them ;  and,  for  my  service,  she  had  been  engaged,  at  high 
wages,  by  Miss  Wordsworth  herself.  These  motives  to  a 
special  regard  for  the  W.'s,  were  not  weighty  enough  to 
overrule  her  selfishness.  Having  unlimited  power  in  all 
which  regarded  the  pecuniary  arrangements  of  my  house, 
she  became  a  person  of  some  consideration  and  some 
power  amongst  her  little  sphere.  In  my  absence,  she  took 
upon  herself  the  absolute  command  of  everything ;  and  I 
could  easily  perceive,  by  diflferent  anecdotes  which  reached 
me,  that  she  was  jealous  of  any  abridgment  to  her  own 
supreme  discretion,  such  as  might  naturally  arise  through 
any  exercise  of  those  friendly  rights,  claimed  in  my  ab- 
sence, by  those  friends  who  conceived  themselves  to  have 


"WILLIAM    WORDSWORTH.  245 

the  freedom  of  my  house,  and  the  right  to  use  its  accom- 
modations in  any  honorable  way  prompted  by  their  own 
convenience.  To  my  selfish  house-keeper  this  was  a  dan- 
gerous privilege  ;  for,  if  it  had  brought  no  other  evil  with 
it,  inevitably  it  would  sometimes  lay  a  restraint  upon  her 
gadding  propensity,  and  detain  her  at  home  during 
months  when  otherwise  my  great  distance  gave  her  the 
amplest  privilege  of  absence.  In  shaping  remedies  for  this 
evil,  which,  from  natural  cowardice,  she  found  it  difficult 
to  oppose  in  her  own  person,  she  had  a  ready  resource  in 
charging  upon  myself  the  measures  which  she  found  con- 
venient. '  blaster  [which  was  her  technical  designa- 
tion for  myself]  thinks  thus,'  or  '  Master  left  such  and 
such  directions.'  These*  were  obvious  fictions,  for  a  woman 
so  selfish  and  mean.  Any  real  friend  of  mine  ought  to 
have  read,  in  the  very  situation  which  this  woman  held  — 
in  her  obvious  interest,  connected  with  her  temper  — a 
sufficient  commentary  upon  the  real  state  of  things.  A 
man  more  careless  than  myself  of  the  petty  interests  con- 
cerned in  such  a  case,  could  not  exist.  And  it  may  be 
supposed  with  what  disgust  and  what  reasonable  indigna- 
tion I  heard  of  opinions  uttered  upon  my  character  by 
those  who  called  themselves  my  friends ;  opinions  shaped 
to  meet,  not  any  conduct  which  I  had  ever  held,  or  which 
it  could  be  pretended  that  I  had  countenanced,  but  to  meet 
the  false  imputations  of  an  interested  woman,  who  was 
by  those  imputations  doing  to  me  a  far  deeper  injury  than 
to  those  whom  she  merely  shut  out  from  a  momentary 
accommodation. 

But  why  not,  upon  discovering  such  forgeries  and  mis- 
representations, openly  and  loudly  denounce  them  for  what 
they  were  ?  I  answer,  that  when  a  man  is  too  injuriously 
wounded  by  the  words  of  his  soi-disant  friends,  oftentimes 
a  strong  movement  of  pride  makes  it  painful  for  him  to 


246  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

degrade  himself  by  explanations  or  justifications.  Besides 
that,  when  once  a  false  idea  has  prepossessed  the  minds  of 
your  friends,  justification  oftentimes  becomes  impossible. 
My  servant,  in  such  a  case,  would  have  worn  the  air  of 
one  who  had  offended  me,  not  by  a  base  falsehood,  but  by 
an  imprudence  in  betraying  too  much  of  the  truth ;  and, 
doubtless,  when  my  back  was  turned,  she  would  insinuate 
that  her  own  interest  had  obliged  her  to  put  up  with  my 
disavowal  of  what  she  had  done  ;  but  that,  in  literal  truth, 
she  had  even  fallen  short  of  my  directions.  Others,  again, 
would  think  that,  though  no  specific  directions  might  have 
been  given  to  her,  possibly  she  had  collected  my  sincere 
wishes  from  words  of  complaint  dropped  casually  upon 
former  occasions.  Thus,  in  short,  partly  I  disdained, 
partly  I  found  it  impossible,  to  exonerate  myself  fr&m 
those  most  false  imputations ;  and  I  sate  down  half-con- 
tentedly  under  accusations  which,  in  the  very  solemnity  of 
truth,  applied  less  justly  to  myself  than  to  any  one  person 
I  knew  amongst  the  whole  circle  of  my  acquaintance. 
The  result  was,  that  ever  after  I  hated  the  name  of  the 
woman  at  whose  hands  I  had  sustained  this  wrong,  so  far 
as  such  a  woman  could  be  thought  worthy  of  hatred  ;  and 
that  I  began  to  despise  a  little  some  of  those  who  had  been 
silly  and  undisccrning  enough  to  accredit  such  representa- 
tions ;  and  one  of  them  especially,  who,  though  liberally 
endowed  with  sunshiny  temper  and  sweetness  of  disposi- 
tion, was  perhaps  a  person  weak,  intellectually,  beyond 
the  ordinary  standards  of  female  weakness. 

Hence  began  the  waning  of  my  friendship  with  the 
Wordsworths.  But,  in  reality,  never  after  the  first  year  or 
so  from  my  first  introduction,  had  I  felt  much  possibility 
of  drawing  the  bonds  of  friendship  tight  with  a  man  of 
Wordsworth's  nature.  He  seemed  to  me  too  much  like 
his  own  Pedlar  in  the  '  Excursion ; '  a  man  so  diffused 


WILLIAM   WORDSWORTH.  247 

amongst  infiumerable  objects  of  equal  attraction,  that  he 
had  no  cells  left  in  his  heart  for  strong  individual  attach- 
ments. I  was  not  singular  in  this  feeling.  Professor  Wil- 
son had  become  estranged  from  him :  Coleridge,  one  of 
his  earliest  friends,  had  become  estranged :  no  one  person 
could  be  deemed  fervently  his  friend.  And,  with  respect 
to  Coleridge,  he  certainly  had  strong  'reasons  to  be  es- 
tranged; and  equally  certain  it  is  that  he  held  a  profound 
sense  of  those  i-easons  for  some  j'^ears.  He  told  me  him- 
self, and  this  was  his  pecular  inference  from  the  case,  and 
what  he  made  its  moral,  that  married  people  rarely  retain 
much  capacity  of  friendship.  Their  thoughts,  and  cares, 
and  anxieties,  are  all  so  much  engrossed  by  those  who 
naturally  and  rightly  sit  nearest  to  their  hearts,  that  other 
friends,  chosen,  perhaps,  originally  for  intellectual  quali- 
ties chiefly,  and  seen  only  at  casual  intervals,  must,  by 
mere  human  necessity,  come  to  droop  and  fade  in  their 
remembrance.  I  see  no  absolute  necessity  for  this ;  nor 
have  I  felt  it  since  my  own  experience  of  the  situation 
supposed  by  Coleridge  has  enabled  me  to  judge.  But,  at 
all  events,  poor  Coleridge  had  found  it  true  in  his  own 
case.  The  rupture  between  him  and  Wordsworth,  which 
rather  healed  itself  by  lapse  of  time  and  the  burning  dim 
of  fierce  recollections,  than  by  any  formal  reconciliation 
or  pardon  exchanged  between  the  parties,  arose  thus :  — 
An  old  acquaintance  of  Coleridge's  happening  to  visit  the 
Lakes,  proposed  to  carry  Coleridge  with  him  to  London  on 
his  return.  This  gentleman's  wife,  a  lady  of  some  dis- 
tinction as  to  person  and  intellectual  accomplishments,  had 
an  equal  pleasure  in  Coleridge's  society.  They  had  a 
place  disposable  in  their  travelling  carriage ;  and  thus  all 
things  tallied  towards  the  general  purpose.  Meantime, 
Wordsworth,  irrhated  with  what  he  viewed  as  excessive 
vanity  in  this  gentleman,  (for  his  plan  of  taking  Coleridge 


248  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

to  London  and  making  him  an  inmate  in  his  house,  had 
oricrinated  in  a  higher  purpose  of  weaning  Coleridge  from 
opium,)  ridiculed  the  whole  scheme  pointedly,  as  a  vision- 
ary and  Quixotic  enterprise,  such  as  no  man  of  worldly 
experience  could  ever  seriously  countenance.     The  dis- 
pute —  for  it  took  that  shape  —  tempted  or  drove  Words- 
worth into  supporting  his  own  views  of  Coleridge's  abso- 
lute incorrigibility,  by  all  the  anecdotes  he  could  gather 
together  illustrative  of  the  utter  and  irredeemable  slavery 
which  had  mastered  the  poor  opium-martyr's  will.     And, 
most  assuredly,  he  drew  such"  a  picture  of  Coleridge,  and 
of  his  sensual  effeminacy,  as  ought  not  to  have  proceeded 
from  the  hands  of  a  friend.     Notwithstanding  all  this,  the 
purpose  held  amongst  the  three  contracting  parties :  they 
went  southwards;  and,  for  a  time,  the  plan  was  still  farther 
realized,  of  making   Coleridge,  not  merely  a  travelling 
companion,  but  also  an  inmate  of  their  house.     This  plan, 
however,  fell  through,  in  consequence   of  incompatible 
habits.     And,  in  the  feud  which  followed,  this  gentleman 
and  his  wife  upbraided  Coleridge  with  the  opinions  held  of 
him  by  his  own  oldest  and  most  valued  friend,  William 
Wordsworth  ;  and,  perhaps  as  much  to  defend  themselves 
as  to  annoy  Coleridge,  they  repeated  many  of  the  argu- 
ments used  by  Wordsworth,  and    of  the   anecdotes   by 
which  he  supported  them;  anecdotes  which,  unfortunately, 
vouched  for  their  own  authenticity,  and  were  self-attested, 
since  none  but  Wordsworth  could  have  known  them. 

I  have  mentioned  the  kind  of  wrongs  which  first  caused 
my  personal  feelings  to  grow  colder  towards  the  Words- 
worths;  and  there  were,  afterwards,  others  added  to  these, 
of  a  nature  still  more  irritating,  because  they  related  to 
more  delicate  topics.  And,  again  and  again,  I  was  pro- 
voked to  wonder  that  persons,  of  whom  some  commanded 
respect  and  attention  simply  as  the  near  connections  of  a 


WILLIAM    WORDSWORTH.  249 

great  man,  should  so  far  forget  the  tenure  on  which  their 
influence  rested,  as  to  arrogate  a  tone  of  authority  upon 
their  own  merits.  Meantime,  however  much  my  personal 
feelings  had  altered  gradually  towards  Wordsworth  ;  and 
more,  I  think,  in  connection  with  his  pride  than  through 
any  or  all  other  causes  acting  jointly,  (insomuch  that  I 
used  to  say,  Never  describe  Wordsworth  as  equal  in  pride 
to  Lucifer ;  no,  but  if  you  have  occasion  to  write  a  life  of 
Lucifer,  set  down  that,  by  possibility,  in  respect  to  pride, 
he  might  be  some  type  of  Wordsworth  ;)  still,  I  say,  my 
intellectual  homage  to  Wordsworth  had  not  been  shaken. 
Even  this,  however,  in  a  course  of  years,  had  gradually 
been  modified.  It  is  impossible  to  imagine  the  perplexity 
of  mind  which  possessed  me  when  I  heard  Wordsworth 
ridicule  many  books  which  I  had  been  accustomed  to 
admire  profoundly.  For  some  years,  so  equally  ineradi- 
cable was  either  influence  —  my  recollection,  on  the  one 
hand,  of  the  books  despised,  and  of  their  power  over  my 
feelings  ;  on  the  other,  my  blind  and  unquestioning  vene- 
ration for  Wordsworth  —  that  I  was  placed  in  a  strange 
sort  of  contradictory  life ;  feeling  that  things  were  and 
were  not  at  the  same  instant ;  believing  and  not  believing 
in  the  same  breath.  And  not  until  I  had  read  much  in 
German  critics,  of  what  they  were  the  first  to  notice,  viz., 
the  accident  of  einseitigkeit,  or  one-sidedness,  as  a  pecu- 
liarity not  unfrequently  besetting  the  strongest  minds,  did  I 
slowly  come  to  the  discovery  that  Wordsworth,  beyond 
all  men,  perhaps,  that  have  ever  lived,  (and  veiy  likely  as 
one  condhion  towards  the  possibility  of  his  own  exceeding 
originality,)  was  einseitig  in  extremity.  This  one-sidedness 
shows  itself  most  conspicuously  in  his  dislikings;  but 
occasionally  even  in  his  likings.  Cotton,  for  instance, 
whom,  in  one  of  his  critical  disquisitions,  he  praises  so 
extravagandy  for  his  fancy,  has  never  found  an  admirer 


250  LITERARY   REMINISCENCES. 

except  in  himself.    And  this  mistake  to  be  made  in  a  field 
of  such  enormous  opulence  as  is  that  of  fancy  ! 

.  But,  omitting  many  flagrant  instances,  the  one  which 
most  appalled  myself  was  the  following  :  —  The  '  Canter- 
bury Tales'  of  the  Miss  Lees  are  sufficiently  well  known, 
but  not  sufficiently  appreciated ;  and  one  reason  may  be, 
that  the  very  inferior  tales  of  Miss  Sophia  Lee  are  mingled 
with  those  of  Miss  Harriet.  Two  of  those  written  by 
Harriet,  viz..  The  Landlady'' s  Tale  and  The  German's, 
are  absolutely  unrivalled  as  specimens  of  fine  narration. 
With  respect  to  the  latter,  it  is  well  known  that  Lord 
Byron  travestied  this  inimitable  tale  into  a  most  miserable 
drama ;  interweaving  with  the  dialogue  of  his  piece  every 
word  in  the  original  conversations,  unaltered  nearly,  and 
assuredly  not  bettered.  And  the  very  act  of  borrowing  a 
plot  from  a  tale  in  which  so  very  much  depends  upon  the 
plot,  and  where  it  is  of  a  kind  that  will  not  bend  to  altera- 
tions, or  modifications  of  any  kind ;  this  in  itself  bespoke 
a  poor  ambition,  and  the  servile  spirit*  of  a  plagiarist. 
This  most  splendid  tale  I  put  into  the  hands  of  Words- 
worth;  and  for  once,  having,  I  suppose,  nothing- else  to 
read,  he  condescended  to  run  through  it.  I  shall  not 
report  his  opinion,  which,  in  fact,  was  no  opinion  ;  for  the 
whole  colossal  exhibition  of  fiendish  gran^ieur  in  Conrad  ; 
the  fine  delineation  of  mixed  power  and  weakness  in 
Siegendorf ;  and  the  exquisite  relief  given  to  the  whole 
by  the  truly  Shakspearian  portrait  of  feminine  innocence 
and  nobility  in  Josephine ;  he  had  failed  so  much  as  to 
guess  at.  All  that  he  wondered  at  was  the  Machia- 
velian  insight  into  motives,  and  the  play  of  human  char- 

*  It  is  quite  unknown  to  the  world  that  Lord  Byron's  poem  of  '  Lara' 
had  already  contained  a  gross  plagiarism  from  Miss  H.  Lee.  The 
whole  outline  of  the  story,  and  many  remarkable  phrases,  are  borrowed 
from  the  German's  Tale. 


WILLIAM   WORDSWORTH.  251 

acter  ;  with  respect  to  which  he  said,  coldly  enough,  that 
it  left  an  uncomfortable  iiiopression  of  a  woman  as  being 
too  clever.  Schiller's  '  Wallenstein,'  again,  was  equally 
unpleasing  to  him  and  unintelligible.  Most  people  have 
been  enraptured  with  the  beautiful  group  of  Max.  Piccolo- 
mini  and  the  Princess  Thekla  ;  both  because  they  furnish 
a  sweet  relief  to  the  general  harsh  impression  from  so 
many  worldly-minded,  scheming,  treacherous,  malignant 
ruffians,  meeting  together,  in  one  camp,  as  friends,  or 
rivajs,  or  betrayers ;  and  also  on  their  own  separate  ac- 
count, even  apart  from  the  relation  which  they  bear  to 
the  whole  ;  for  both  are  noble,  both  innocent,  both  young, 
and  both  unfortunate  :  a  combination  of  advantages  to- 
wards winning  our  pity  which  has  rarely  been  excelled. 
Yet  Wordsworth's  sole  remark  to  me,  upon  Wallenstein, 
was  this  ;  that  he  could  not  comprehend  Schiller's  mean- 
ing or  object  in  entailing  so  much  unhappiness  upon  these 
young  people  ;  a  remark  that,  to  me,  was  incomprehensi- 
ble ;  for  why,  then,  did  Shakspeare  make  Ophelia,  Desde- 
mona,  Cordelia  unhappy  ?  Or  why,  to  put  the  question 
more  generally,  did  any  man  ever  write  a  tragedy  ? 

Perhaps,  to  the  public,  it  may  illustrate  Wordsworth's 
one-sidedness  more  strikingly,  if  I  should  mention  my 
firm  persuasion  that  he  has  never  read  one  page  of  Sir 
Walter  Scott's  novels.  Of  this  I  am  satisfied ;  though  it 
is  true  that,  latterly,  feeling  more  indulgently  to  the  public 
favorites  as  the  public  has  come  to  appreciate  himself 
more  justly,  he  has  spoken  of  these  tales  in  a  tone  of 
assumed  enthusiasm.*  One  of  Mrs.  Eadclifie's  romances, 
viz.,  '  The  Italian,'  he  had,  by  some  strange  accident, 
read  ;  read,  but  only  to  laugh  at  it ;  whilst,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  novels  of  Smollett,  Fielding,  and  Le   Sage  — 

* '  Yarrow  Revisited.' 


252  LITERARY     REMINISCENCES. 

SO  disgusting  by  their  moral  scenery  and  the  whole  state 
of  vicious  society  in  which  they  keep  the  reader  moving : 
these,  and  merely  for  the  ability  of  the  execution,  he 
read  and  remembered  with  extreme  delight. 

Without  going  over  any  other  examples,  it  may  well 
be  understood  that,  by  these  striking  instances  of  defective 
sympathy  in  Wordsworth  with  the  universal  feelings  of 
his  age  J  my  intellectual,  as  well  as  my  personal  regard 
for  him,  would  be  likely  to  suffer.  In  fact,  I  learned, 
gradually,  that  he  was  not  only  liable  to  human  error,  but 
that,  in  some  points,  and  those  of  large  extent,  he  was 
frailer  and  more  infirm  than  most  of  his  fellow-men.  I 
viewed  this  defect,  it  is  very  true,  as  being  the  condition 
and  the  price,  as  it  were,  or  ransom  of  his  own  extraor- 
dinary power  and  originality  ;  but  still  it  raised  a  curtain 
which  had  hitherto  sustained  my  idolatry.  I  viewed  him 
now  as  a  7nixed  creature,  made  up  of  special  infirmity 
and  special  strength.  And,  finally,  I  now  viewed  him  as 
no  longer  capable  of  an  equal  friendship. 

With  this  revolution  in  my  feelings,  why  did  I  not  now 
leave  Westmoreland  >  I  will  say :  Other  attractions 
had  arisen  ;  different  in  kind  ;  equally  potent  in  degree. 
These  stepped  in  to  enchain  me,  precisely  as  my  previous 
chains  were  unlinking  themselves,  and  leaving  me  in 
freedom. 

In  these  sketches  (written  with  so  much  hurry  as,  in  no 
one  instance  that  I  remember,  to  have  allowed  me  time 
for  once  reading  over  a  single  paragraph  of  what  I  had 
written),  I  have  usually  thought  it  best,  in  the  few  cases 
where  I  had  afterwards  an  opportunity  of  correcting  the 
press  errors,  simply  to  restore  the  word  which  it  was 
probable  or  apparent  that  I  had  originally  written ;  or 
which,  at  least,  I  must  have  meant  to  write.     Changes 


WALKING   STEWART. 


253 


more  extensive  than  this  it  could  not  be  advisable  to  make, 
in  a  case  where  I  had  no  opening  for  a  thorough  recast  of 
the  whole.  Even  in  those  instances  wliere  a  thought,  or 
an  expression,  or  a  statement  of  facts,  might  be  calculated 
to  do  me  some  little  injury,  unless  it  were  expanded,  or 
accompanied  with  an  explanation,  or  more  cautiously  re- 
stricted, I  thought  it  better,  on  the  whole,  to  abide  the 
hazard  ;  placing  my  reliance  for  the  redress  of  any  harsh 
judgment  on  the  absolute  certainty,  that  each  successive 
month  washes  out  of  the  public  mind  every  trace  of  what 
may  have  occupied  it  in  any  previous  month.  But,  in  this 
sketch  of  Walkhig  Stewart,  there  is  something  which 
demands  a  more  instant  explanation ;  for  it  happens  that, 
at  this  moment  of  revising  the  press  errors,  an  anecdote 
occurs  to  me,  which  illustrates  the  danger,  in  such  a  case, 
of  a  permanent  misconstruction.  Many  years  ago,  I  was 
spending  a  few  days  at  the  country-house  of  a  foreign 
merchant.  His  wife,  a  very  intelligent,  and  even  intel- 
lectual person,  came  to  me  one  morning  with  a  book  in 
her  hand,  of  which  several  leaves  had  been  torn  into  frag- 
ments. Her  features,  generally  placid  and  amiable,  wore 
an  expression  of  matronly  scorn.  She  blushed,  but  it  was 
more  with  indignation  than  with  feminine  shame,  as  she 
put  the  book  into  my  hands.  It  was  mine,  she  said,  my 
property  ;  and  therefore  she  had  not  tossed  it  into  the  fire. 
One  of  her  infant  children  had  found  it,  and  had  dealt 
with  it  as  I  saw:  'and,  if  the  child  had  destroyed  the 
whole  of  it,  she  could  not  think  that  I  was  much  entitled 
to  complain.'  It  was  one  of  my  Peripatetic  friend's 
essays,  under  some  such  title  as  The  Apocalypse  of  Na- 
ture, or,  The  Revelation  of  Reason. 

This  accident,  directing  my  eye  to  the  part  of  the 
volume  which  had  been  injured,  reminded  me  of  a  fact 
which  otherwise  I  had  naturally  enough   forgotten,  viz., 


254  LITERARY   REBIINISCENCES. 

that  Walking  Stewart  had  occasionally  touched  on  sub- 
jects quite  unfitted  for  a  public  treatment ;  or,  at  least,  as 
questions  for  philosophic  speculation,  calling  for  the  dis- 
guise of  a  learned  language.  I*  made  my  peace  with  the 
lady  by  assuring  her,  first,  that  (this  particular  A^olume 
being  one  of  many  by  the  same  author)  I  had  not  been 
aware  of  the  gross  passages  which  appeared  to  disfigure 
it  near  the  end;  and,  secondly,  (which  part  of  my  apology 
it  is  that  I  now  direct  to  my  readers,)  that  my  personal 
knowledge  of  the  man  modified  to  my  mind  the  doctrines 
of  the  author.  Things  said  broadly  and  coarsely,  which 
could  not  but  shock  strangers,  to  viy  interpretation,  were 
blunted  and  defeated  in  their  effect  by  the  private  know- 
ledge I  had  of  the  writer's  ultimate  object,  and  of  the 
inartificial  mode  in  which  he  dealt  with  his  native  lan- 
guage. Language  was  too  complex  a  machine  for  his 
management.  He  had  never  been  an  accurate  scholar; 
and  his  idiom  had  entangled  itself  with  the  many  exotic 
idioms  which  at  times  he  had  used  familiarly  for  years. 

Under  the  spirit  of  this  general  apology,  I  beg  to  shel- 
ter whatever  I  may  have  asserted  of  Mr.  Stewart  as  a 
philosophic  speculator.  He  was  a  man  religious  by  tem- 
perament and  the  tendency  of  all  his  feelings ;  yet  it  is 
true  that  his  mere  understanding,  yielding  itself  up  to 
speculations  which  he  could  not  manage,  has  prompted 
the  most  scornful  expressions  towards  all  doctrinal  reli- 
gions alike.  He  was  pure  and  temperate  in  his  habits  of 
life  beyond  the  common  standard  of  men;  yet  his  page 
was  sometimes  stained  with  sentiments  too  gross  and 
animal.  Ignorant  of  philosophy  in  its  forms  and  termi- 
nology, he  was,  by  capacity  of  profound  reverie,  a  true 
philosopher — in  the  sense  that  he  felt  his  way  to  truths 
greater  and  deeper  than  he  could  always  explain ;  and, 
finally,  though  his  books  are  filled  with  strong  (oftentimes 


WALKING    STEWART.  255 

harsh)  truths,  ho  was,  as  a  man,  the  most  comprehen- 
sively benign,  the  most  largely  in  sympathy  with  human 
nature,  of  any  whom  I  have  yet  known.  He  passed  his 
latter  years  in  utter  deafness  ;  [in  noticing  which,  let  me 
observe  that  the  image  of  the  shell  which  I  have  used, 
though  not  consciously,  at  the  moment  of  writing,  taken 
from  Wordsworth's  '  Excursion,'  or  fron^  ]\Ir.  Savage 
Lander's  '  Gebir,'  must  have  been  derived  from  one  or 
other  of  those  poems  :]  he  was  deaf,  as  respected  any 
music  that  could  come  to  him  from  the  world  :  and  he  was 
also  dumb,  as  respected  any  music  that  could  reach  the 
world  from  him  :  so  profound  was  his  inability  to  explain 
himself,  except  at  times,  in  conversation.  Actually,  there- 
fore, he  will  be  lost  and  forgotten.  Potentially,  he  was  a 
great  man. 


CHAPTEH   XXII. 

TALFOURD.  —  THE  LONDON  MAGAZINE.  — JUNIUS. — 
CLARE.  — ALLAN  CUNNINGHAM. 

Whilst  T  am  upon  the  ground  of  London,  that  '  nation 

of  London,'  (as  I  have  elsewhere  called  it,)  which  I  have 

so  often  visited,  and  yet  for  periods  so  brief,  that  my  entire 

London  life,  if  transposed  from  its  dislocated  periods  into 

one  continuous  aggregate,  would  not  make  above  one  and 

a  half  year  in  the  whole  result,  it  may  be  as  well  to  notice 

some  other  circumstances,  partly  of  a  literary,  partly  of  a 

general  interest,  and  which  might  be  worthy  of  notice  in 

any  man's  life,  but  were  so  especially  in  the  life  of  one 

who   held   some   peculiar    principles  —  compromises,   in 

a   measure   between   the   extreme    principles   commonly 

avowed  —  which  I  shall  explain  in  connection  with  the 

occasion.     First,  then,  confining  myself  to  my  London 

literary  experience  :  it  was  not,  certainly,  extensive,  nor 

was   I  in   spirits   or   circumstances   to   wish  it   such.     I 

lived  in  the  most  austere  retirement ;  and  the  few  persons 

whom  I  saw  occasionally,  or  whose  hospitalities  I  received, 

were  gens  de  plume,  and  professedly  of  my  own  order  as 

practising  literati,  but  of  the  highest  pretensions.     Lamb 

I  have  already  mentioned.     Serjeant  Talfourd  I  became 

acquainted   with    in   the    beautiful    hall   of    the    Middle 

Temple,  whence  (after  dining  together  in  the  agreeable 

style  inherited  from  elder  days,  and  so  pleasantly  recalling 


TALFOURD.  257 

the  noble  rcfeclories  of  Oxford  amidst  the  fervent  tumults 
of  London)  wc  sometuncs  adjourned  to  our  coffee  at  the 
ch'ambers  of  the  future  author  of  Io7i,  and  enjoyed  the 
luxury  of  conversation,  with  the  elite  of  the  young 
Templars,  upon  the  most  stirring  themes  of  life  or 
literature.  Ilim,  indeed,  I  had  known  when  a  Temple 
student.  But,  in  1821,  when  I  went  up  to  London 
avowedly  for  the  purpose  of  exercising  my  pen,  as  the 
one  sole  source  then  open  to  me  for  extricating  myself 
from  a  special  embarrassment,  (failing  which  case  of  dire 
necessity,  I  believe  that  I  should  never  have  written  a  line 
for  the  press ;)  Mr.  Talfourd  having  become  a  practising 
barrister,  I  felt  that  I  had  no  right  to  trespass  upon  his 
time,  without  some  stronger  warrant  than  any  I  could 
plead  in  my  own  person.  I  had,  therefore,  requested  a 
letter  of  introduction  to  him  from  Wordsworth.  That 
was  a  spell  which,  with  this  young  lawyer,  I  knew  to  be 
all-potent ;  and,  accordingly,  I  now  received  from  him  a 
gi'eat  deal  of  kindness,  which  came  specially  commended 
to  a  man  in  dejected  spirhs,  by  the  radiant  courtesy  and 
the  cheerfulness  of  his  manners:  for,  of  all  the  men  whom 
I  have  known,  after  long  intercourse  with  the  business  of 
the  world,  the  Serjeant  is  the  one  who  most  preserves,  to 
all  outward  appeai'ance,  the  freshness  and  integrity  of  his 
youthful  spirits. 

From  him,  also,  I  obtained  an  introduction  to  Messrs. 
Taylor  &  Hessey,  who  had  very  recently,  upon  the 
melancholy  death  of  Mr.  Scott,  in  consequence  of  his 
duel  with  Mr.  Christie,  purchased  The  London  Magazine^ 
and  were  themselves  joint  editors  of  that  journal.  The 
terms  they  held  out  to  contributors  were  ultra-munificent 
—  more  so  than  had  yet  been  heard  of  in  any  quarter 
whatsoever ;  and,  upon  that  understanding  —  seeing  that 
money  was  just  tlten,  of  necessity,  the  one  sole  object  to 

VOL.  II.  17 


258  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

which  I  looked  in  the  cultivation  of  literature  —  naturally 
enouo-h  it  happened  that  to  the77i  I  ofFered  my  earliest 
paper,  viz.,  '  The  Confessions  of  an  English  Opium- 
Eater.'  Of  the  two  publishers,  who  were  both  hospi- 
table and  friendly  men,  with  cultivated  minds,  one,  viz., 
Mr.  Taylor,  was  himself  an  author,  and,  upon  one  subject, 
a  most  successful  one.  He  had  written,  indeed,  at  that 
time,  and  since  then,  I  understand,  has  written  again  upon 
different  parts  of  political  economy.  But  to  all  v>'ho  are 
acquainted  with  the  great  reformation  of  this  science, 
effected  by  David  Ricardo,  it  will  appear,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  upon  looking  into  Mr.  Taylor's  works,  that  he 
sliould  be  found  to  have  merely  trifled.  In  reality,  the 
stern  application  of  one  single  doctrine  —  that,  namely, 
which  expounds  the  laws  of  value  —  would  be  sufficient, 
as  I  believe,  of  itself,  to  demonstrate  the  reputation  of  Mr. 
Taylor's,  as  of  so  many  other  erroneous  views,  in  this 
severe  but  much-bewildering  science.  In  Mr.  Taylor's 
case,  from  what  I  saw  of  his  opinions  in  1821,  I  have 
reason  to  think  that  Locke  had  been  the  chief  instrument 
in  leading  him  astray.  Mr.  Taylor  professed  himself  a 
rehgious  dissenter  ;  and,  in  all  the  poUtical  bearings  of 
dissent,  he  travelled  so  far,  that  if,  in  any  one  instance,  he 
manifested  an  illiberal  spirit,  it  was  in  the  temper  which 
he  held  habitually  towards  the  Church  of  England.  Then 
first,  indeed,  it  was  —  and  amongst  the  company  which  I 
sometimes  saw  at  Mr.  Taylor's  —  that  I  became  aware  of 
the  deadly  hatrq^^i  —  savage,  determined  hatred,  made  up 
for  mischief — which  governed  a  large  part  of  the  well- 
educated  dissenters  in  their  feelings  towards  the  Church  of 
England.  Being  myself,  not  by  birth  and  breeding  only, 
but  upon  the  deliberate  adoption  of  my  judgment,  an 
affectionate  son  of  that  church,  in  respect  to  her  doctrines, 
her  rites,  her  discipline,  and  her  internal  government,  I 


THE    LONDON    MAGAZINE.  259 

was  both  shocked  and  grieved  to  meet  with  what  seemed 
to  me  so  much  levity  of  rash  judgment  amongst  the 
thoughtful  and  well-principled  —  so  harsh  an  illiberality 
amongst  the  liberal,  so  little  consideration  amongst  the 
considerate.  One  thing  was  clear  to  me  :  that,  in  general, 
this  angry  spirit  of  hostility  was  grounded  upon  a  false, 
because  a  superannuated,  set  of  facts.  Never,  in  any 
great  public  corporation,  had  there  been,  as  I  well  knew, 
so  large  a  reformation  as  in  the  Church  of  England, 
during  the  last  forty  years.  The  collateral  Church  of 
]\Iethodists,  hardly  a  Dissenting  Church,  raised  up  by  John 
Wesley,  had,  after  one  generation  or  so,  begun  to  react 
upon  the  Metropolitan  Church,  out  of  whose  bosom  it  had 
been  projected.  The  two  universities  of  England  had 
constantly  fed  from  within  this  growing  galvanism  applied 
from  without :  Mr.  Simeon,  Professor  Parish,  Dean  Mihier, 
in  Cambridge ;  Mr.  Faber,  the  little  society  of  Edmund 
Hall,  &c.,  in  Oxford  ;  Mr.  Wilberforce,  Mr.  Babington, 
Mr.  Thornton,  in  the  Senate  ;  Mrs.  Hannah  Mote  in 
literature  ;  severally  offered  a  nucleus,  around  which,  I 
have  understood,  the  open  profession  of  a  deeper,  more 
fervid,  and  apostolical  spirit  in  religious  opinions  and 
religious  practices,  had  been  emboldened  to  gather ;  and 
the  result  has  been  that,  whilst  the  English  Church,  from 
Queen  Anne's  day  to  the  French  Revolution,  was  at  the 
lowest  point  of  its  depression,  and  absolutely  cankered  to 
the  heart  by  the  spirit  of  worldliness,  that  same  Church  in 
our  days,  when  standing  on  the  brink,  apparently,  of  great 
trials,  and  summoned  to  put  forth  peculiar  vigilance  of 
watch  and  ward,  if  not  even  to  face  great  and  trying 
storms,  has,  by  great  examples,  by  extensive  religious 
associations,  and  by  a  powerful  press,  concurring  with  the 
unusual  thoughtfulness  generated  by  the  French  Revo- 
lution and  the  vast  changes  in  its  train,  most  seasonably 


260  LITERARY   REMINISCENCES. 

been  brought  gradually  into  a  frame  and  composition 
which  all  who  have  looked  with  interest  upon  the  case, 
deem  much  nearer  than  at  any  other  stage  of  its  history 
to  the  condition  of  a  primitive  and  truly  pastoral  church. 

With  these  views  I  was  as  much  astonished  as  I  was 
grieved  to  find  the  Established  Church  an  object,  at  this 
particular  crisis,  of  enmity  so  profound.  Thus,  however, 
it  was.  Mr.  Taylor,  I  apprehend,  shared  in  all  the 
dominant  feelings  of  the  dissenters,  such  as  I  heard  them 
frequently  expressed  in  his  society ;  and  naturally,  tliere- 
fore,  he  entertained,  amongst  other  literary  opinions,  a. 
peculiar  and  perhaps  blind  veneration  for  Locke.  Locke, 
in  fact,  is  made  an  idol  amongst  the  '  Rational '  Dis- 
senters :  those  whose  religion  begins  and  terminates  in  the 
understanding.  This  idolatry  is  paid  to  him  in  a  double 
character,  as  the  most  eminent  patron  of  religious  liberty, 
and  as  the  propounder  of  views  in  Christianity  pretty 
much  akin  to  their  own  in  want  of  depth  and  in  *  anti- 
mysticism,'  as  a  friend  might  call  it ;  but,  speaking 
sincerely,  in  hostility  to  all  that  is  unfathomable  by  the 
mere  discursive  understanding.  I  am  not  here  going  to 
entertain  so  large  a  theme  as  the  philosophy  of  Locke. 
In  another  place,  I  shall,  perhaps,  astonish  the  reader  by 
one  or  two  of  the  yet  undetected  blunders  he  has  com- 
mitted in  his  philosophy.  But,  confining  myself  to  his 
political  economy,  I  may  take  occasion  to  notice  one  error, 
with  regard  to  that  part  of  his  pretensions,  which  has 
misled  many.  By  mere  accident,  Locke  was  right,  in  his 
dispute  with  Lowndes  of  the  Treasury,  upon  a  question 
which  arose  in  connection  with  the  great  recoinage  of 
King  William's  days.  At  the  request  of  Lord  Somers, 
Locke  undertook  the  discussion ;  and,  as  he  happened  to 
be  right  in  opposition  to  a  man  whose  official  duty  it  was 
to  have  understood  the  subject  thoroughly  upon  which  he 


THE    LONDON    MAGAZINE.  261 

speculated  so  wildly,  this  advantage,  settling,  in  Jiis  case, 
upon  a  novice  matched  against  a  doctor,  procured  for 
Locke  an  enthusiasm  of  admiration  which  the  case  did 
not  really  warrant;  and  it  was  afterwards  imagined,  by 
those  who  looked  back  casually  into  Locke's  treatises,  that 
he  was  a  sound  economist.  But  the  fact  is,  political 
economy  had,  in  those  days,  no  sort  of  existence  :  no  one 
doctrine,  not  so  much  as  that  which  unfolds  the  benefits 
from  the  division  of  labor,  was  then  known :  the  notion, 
again,  that  a  nation  did  or  could  benefit  by  commerce, 
otherwise  than  by  the  accident  of  selling  more  than  she 
bought,  and,  as  a  consequence,  by  accumulating  the 
balance  in  the  form  of  the  precious  metals — this  notion 
was  inconceivable  to  the  human  understanding  at  the  era 
of  Locke  :  no  progress  had  been  made  in  dissipating  that 
delusion  ;  and  Locke  was  as  much  enslaved  by  it  as  any 
other  man.  Possibly  —  and  there  is  some  room  to  think 
it  —  he  was  a  little  in  advance  of  the  Ciceronian  idea, 
that  the  very  possibility  of  a  gain,  in  any  transaction  of 
sale  between  two  parties,  was  logically  conceivable  only 
upon  the  assumption  of  a  deception  on  one  side  :  that, 
unless  they  would  '  lie  pretty  considerably,'  {7iisi  admodum 
mentiantur ,)  merchants  must  resign  all  hope  of  profit. 
The  grounds  of  value,  again,  were  as  little  known  to 
Locke  as  the  consequences  of  those  grounds ;  and,  in 
short,  he  had  not  made  one  step  ahead  of  his  age  in  any 
one  branch  of  political  economy.  But,  in  his  dispute 
with  Lowndes,  the  victory  was  gained,  not  over  scientific 
blunders  by  scientific  lights ;  no,  but  over  mere  logical 
blunders,  the  very  grossest,  by  common  sense  the  most 
palpable.  It  was  no  victory  of  a  special  science,  but  one 
of  general  logic.  There  were  no  poshive  truths  elicited, 
but  simply  a  refutation,  scarcely  in  that  age  needed,  of 
some  self-contradictory  errors.     Lowndes  had  so  far  con- 


262  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

fused  himself  as  to  suppose  that  the  same  ounce  of  silver 
might,  at  the  same  time  and  place,  be  worth  more  or  less 
than  itself,  when  thrown  into  the  shape  of  coin.  The 
most  obvious  truths  Locke  himself  appears  to  have  over- 
looked, notwithstanding  the  English  silver  currency  at 
that  moment  illustrated  some  of  them.  Locke,  therefore, 
exposed  a  set  of  errors  which  could  not  have  arisen  in 
anything  short  of  Irish  confusion  of  ideas  ;  and  the  truths 
of  an  affirmative  order  belonging  to  the  subject,  which, 
even  under  the  feeble  light  of  those  times,  might  have 
been  detected,  escaped  him  altogether.  So  much  I  have 
thought  it  right  to  say  on  Mr.  Taylor's  Political  Economy, 
and  the  sort  of  sanction  which  he  seeks  to  draw  from 
Locke,  who  has  led  many  others  astray,  by  the  authority 
of  his  name,  upon  a  subject  over  which  he  has  no  sort 
of  jurisdiction ;  neither  did  that  age  furnish  any  one  who 
had. 

But  if  Mr.  Taylor  failed  (as,  honestly,  I  believe  he  did) 
in  this  field,  in  another  he  effected  a  discovery  so  brilliant, 
so  powerfully  sustained  by  evidences  overwhelming  and 
irresistible,  after  (be  it  remembered)  efforts  the  most 
elaborate  and  numerous  to  solve  the  problem,  that  he 
certainly  deserves  a  high  place,  and  perhaps  next  to 
Bentley,  in  this  species  of  exploratory  literature.  With 
little  or  no  original  hints  to  direct  him  in  his  path,  he 
undertook  the  great  literary  enigma  of  Junius  —  Who  and 
what  was  he  ?  —  and  brought  that  question  to  a  decision 
that  never  can  be  unsettled  or  disturbed  by  any  person 
except  one  who  is  unacquainted  with  the  arguments.  I 
have  understood,  but  perhaps  not  upon  sufficient  authority, 
that  the  notice  of  this  work  in  The  Edinlurgli  Review 
was  drawn  up  by  Lord  Brougham.  If  so,  I  must  confess 
my  surprise :  there  is  not  much  of  a  lawyer's  accuracy  in 
the  abstract  of  the  evidence,  nor  is  the  result  stated  with 

« 


JUNIUS.  263 

the  boldness  which  the  premises  warrant.  Chief  Justice 
Dallas,  of  the  Common  Pleas,  was  wont  to  say  that  a  man 
arraigned  as  Junius  upon  the  evidence  here  accumulated 
against  Sir  Philip  Francis,  must  have  been  convicted  in 
any  court  of  Europe.  But  I  would  go  much  farther :  I 
would  say  that  there  are  single  proofs,  which  (taken 
separately  and  apart  from  all  the  rest)  are  sufhcient  to 
sustain  the  whole  onus  of  the  charge.  I  would  also  aro;ue 
thus  :  —  If  a  man  in  one  character  (his  avowed  character, 
suppose,  of  Francis)  uses  a  word  in  some  peculiar  sense, 
or  in  some  very  irregular  manner,  then  it  will  become 
high  argument  against  this  man  as  liable  to  the  suspicion 
of  having  been  the  masque  in  the  assumed  character  of 
Junius,  that  this  masque  shall  also  be  proved  to  have  used 
the  same  word  in  the  same  anomalous  way.  Suppose 
now  that  any  ordinary  presumption,  or  any  coincidence  of 
ordinary  force  shall  be  considered  :zz  a; ;  then  I  may  be 
entitled  to  value  this  remarkable  coincidence  in  anomalous 
practice  as  x^;  or,  however,  as  equal  to  some  higher 
power  of  the  same  order.  But,  now,  suppose  further,  that 
Francis  has  also,  in  his  mode  of  correcting  '  proof-sheets  ' 
and  '  revises '  from  the  press,  fallen  into  a  constant  mis- 
conception of  the  function  assigned  by  compositors  to  a 
particular  mark ;  and  suppose  that  this  misconception  is 
by  no  means  a  natural  or  obvious  misconception,  but  one 
which  rests  upon  some  accident  of  individual  blundering  ; 
then  I  should  say  that  if,  upon  examination  pursued 
through  a  multitude  of  specimens,  it  comes  out  flagrantly 
that  Junius  has  also  fallen  into  the  same  very  peculiar  and 
unoivious  error;  in  this  case,  we  have  a  presumption  for 
the-  identity  of  the  two  characters,  Francis  and  Junius, 
which  (taken  separately)  is  entitled  to  be  valued  as  a  high 
function  of  x.  But  I  say  further,  that  a  second  presumption 
of  the   same  order  may  lawfully  demand  to  be  reckoned 


264  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

as  multiplying  its  own  value  into  the  second  value. 
Meantime  the  tendency  of  all  the  external,  arguments 
drawn  from  circumstantial  or  personal  considerations, 'from 
local  facts,  or  the  records  of  party,  flows  in  the  very  same 
channel ;  with  all  the  internal  presumptions  derived  from 
the  style,  from  the  anomalous  use  of  words,  from  the 
anomalous  construction  of  the  syntax,  from  the  pecu- 
liar choice  of  images,  from  the  arbitrary  use  of  the 
technical  short-hand  for  correcting  typographical  errors, 
from  capricious  punctuation,  and  even  from  penmanship, 
(which,  of  itself,  taken  separately,  has  sometimes  deter- 
mined the  weightiest  legal  interests.)  Proofs,  in  fact, 
rush  upon  us  more  plentiful  than  blackberries :  and  the 
case  ultimately  begins  to  be  fatiguing,  from  the  very 
phlethora  and  riotous  excess'of  evidence.  It  would  stimu- 
late attention  more,  and  pique  the  interest  of  curiosity 
more  pungently,  if  there  were  some  conflicting  evidence, 
some  shadow  of  presumptions  against  Francis.  But  there 
are  none,  absolutely  none. 

Under  these  circumstances,  the  reader  will  begin  to 
say.  How  came  it  then  that  the  controversy  about  Junius, 
which  has  raged  for  upwards  of  half  a  century,  and  has 
already  produced  books  and  pamphlets  past  all  numbering, 
(insomuch  that  I  have  heard  of  several  persons  projecting 
a  BiMiotheca  Junia7ia,  or  Museum  Juniamim ;)  how  came 
it,  the  reader  will  ask,  that  this  controversy  did  not  drop 
at  once  and  for  ever,  as  a  question  summarily  but  irrever- 
sibly decided,  as  a  balloon  from  which  all  the  inflating  air 
had  suddenly  escaped  ?  How  is  it  that  we  still  see  the  old 
Junian  pompholyx,  that  ancient  and  venerable  bubble,  still 
floatin  .f  in  the  upper  air  ?  This  may  be  explained  out  of 
two  facts :  one  being,  that  very  few  people  have  made 
themselves  familiar  with  the  arguments.  I  have  never 
yet  happened  to   meet  anybody  who  had   mastered   the 


JUNIUS.  265 

investigation  so  far  as  to  be  aware  that  there  was  anything 
more  made  out  against  Sir  Philip  Francis  than  some  vague 
presumptions,  founded  "on  similarity  of  handwritings,  and 
perhaps  some  coincidence  between  the  main  periods  of 
Junius  as  to  his  rise  and  setting,  with  certain  known  cnti- 
cal  incidents  in  the  career  of  Francis.  The  coherence 
and  interdependency  in  the  total  chainwork  of  evidence, 
and  the  independent  strength  of  each  particular  link,  is 
little  known  to  the  public.  That  is  one  reason  for  the 
non-decisiveness  of  this  most  decisive  book.  A  second 
is,  the  absurd  tradition,  which  has  tal^en  root  in  the  public 
mind,  that  some  all-superseding  revelation  is  to  be  made 
upon  this  subject  at  the  death  of  some  Pht  or  Grenville 
unknown.  For  many  a  year  it  was  asserted,  every  six 
months,  in  the  newspapers,  that  Lord  Grenville  was  the 
man  at  whose  death  a  final  discovery  was  to  be  inade, 
such  as  nobody  could  gainsay.  And  to  this  day,  though 
the  Duke  of  Buckingham,  Lord  Grenville,  and  every 
other  person  of  that  generation  in  the  Pitt  and  Grenville 
families,  has  died  and  'made  no  sign,'  the  same  ridiculous 
legend  is  occasionally  repeated  in  the  newspapers.  But 
the  best  possible  answer  to  this  idle  fable  is,  simply,  to 
ask  a  man  for  one  moment's  reflection  upon  its  meaning; 
for  what  is  it  that  any  man  could  establish  by  his  death, 
or  by  any  act  consequent  upon  his  death,  such  as  a  will 
or  codicil  to  a  will  ?  Living,  perhaps  Lord  Grenville 
might  have  argued  the  case  with  Mr.  Taylor  upon  the 
basis  of  his  own  recollections  ;  but,  being  dead,  what 
more  could  he  possibly  do  than  leave  behind  him  a 
writing,  certificate,  or  memorial,  that  somebody  had  told 
him  he  was  Junius,  or  that  he  had  personal  reasons  for 
suspecting  that  such  or  such  a  person  might  be  Junius? 
So  that  the  utmost  result  would  have  been  to  make  out 
some   rival   case.     A   third  reason    is   the    same    which 


266  LITERARY   REMINISCENCES. 

influenced  Mr.  Woodfall  :  this  gentleman  having  long 
cherished  the  idea,  an  idea  encouraged  by  various  arti- 
fices on  the  part  of  Junius,  that  the  masqued  writer  was 
a  very  great  man,  some  leading  statesman,  it  mortified 
him,  and  threw  a  coloring  of  the  burlesque  upon  the 
aristocratic  airs  of  Junius,  to  suppose  him,  after  all,  no 
more  than  a  clerk  in  the  War-Office.  These  are  the 
common  reasons  for  the  non-satisfaction  (dissatisfaction 
it  cannot  be  called)  of  most  men  whh  the  case  as  it  stands 
in  popular  repute.  But  there  is  ^fourth  reason,  stronger 
than  all  the  rest,  which  weighs  much  with  many  even  of 
those  who  have  some  personal  acquaintance  with  the 
evidence,  and  (so  far  as  that  acquaintance  goes)  are  not 
dissatisfied  with  its  force.  It  is  this,  and  I  have  once 
stated  it  at  length  in  a  private  letter  to  Mr.  Taylor ;  and 
singular  enough,  it  will  be  thought,  that  this  objection  to 
the  evidence  turns  out,  when  probed,  its  very  strongest 
confirmation.     Thus  it  stands  :  — 

People  allege  that  Sir  Philip  Francis  was  a  vain  man, 
fond  of  notoriety,  and,  beyond  all  things,  fond  of  literary 
notoriety ;  and  yet  he  never  unmasked  himself  as  Junius, 
never  hinted  at  any  interest  which  he  had  in  these  thrice 
celebrated  letters ;  and,  at  length,  when  the  claim  is  made 
on  his  behalf  by  a  stranger,  he  not  only  does  not  come 
forward  to  countersign  this  claim  as  authentic,  but  abso- 
lutely, with  some  sternness,  appears  to  disavow  it.  How 
is  this  ?  Here  lies  a  glittering  trophy ;  a  derelict,  exposed 
in  the  public  highway.  People  have  been  known  to 
violate  their  consciences,  under  the  most  awful  circum- 
stances, in  ordei'  to  establish  a  false  pretension  to  it ; 
people  have  actually  died  with  a  falsehood  on  their  lips, 
for  the  poor  chance  of  gaining  what,  for  tliem^  could  be 
no  more  than  a  posthumous  reputation  ;  and  this  to  be 
enjoyed  even  in  its  visionary  foretaste,  only  for  a  few 


JUNIUS.  267 

fleeting  moments  of  life,  with  a  certainty  of  present 
guilt,  and  at  the  hazard  of  future  exposure.  All  this 
has  been  done  by  those  who  are  conscious  of  having 
only  a  false  claim.  And  here  is  the  man  who,  by  th^e 
supposition,  has  the  true  claim  ;  a  man,  too,  eminently 
vain-glorious  ;  and  yet  he  will  not  put  forth  his  hand  to 
appropriate  the  prize  ;  nay,  posuively  rejects  it.  Such  is 
the  objection.  Now,  hear  the  answer  —  First,  he  did  not 
reject  it.  The  place  in  which  he  is  supposed  to  have  done 
so,  is  a  short  letter  addressed  to  Sir  Richard  Phillips,  by 
way  of  answer  to  a  very  impertinent  demand,  on  that 
worthy  publisher's  part,  for  a  categorical  answer  to  the 
question  —  Was  he,  or  loas  he  not,  Junius  7  Now,  Sir 
Philip  seems  to  say  —  '  No  : '  and  he  certainly  framed  his 
letter  with  a  view  to  be  so  understood.  But,  on  a  nicer 
inspection  of  this  answer,  we  may  perceive  that  it  is  most 
jesuitically  adapted  to  convey  an  impression  at  variance 
with  the  strict  construction  which  lurks  in  the  literal 
wording.  Even  that  artifice,  however,  lets  us  behind  the 
scenes,  by  showing  that  Sir  Phihp  had  a  masqued  design 
before  him  —  a  design  to  evade  an  acknowledgment  which, 
in  conscience,  he  could  not  boldly  and  blankly  refute, 
and  which,  by  vanity,  he  longed  to  establish.  Yet,  had 
this  been  otherwise,  had  he  even  pointedly  and  unambig- 
uously said  No,  we  could  not,  in  the  circumstances  of  the 
case,  have  built  much  upon  that.  For  we  know,  and 
Sir  Philip  knew,  what  had  been  Dr.  Johnson's  casuistry, 
applied  to  this  very  case  of  Junius.  Burke  having  been, 
named,  improbably  enough,  as  Junius,  the  Doctor  said 
'  No  :'  he  acquitted  Burke  altogether ;  not  because  he  had 
disowned  the  authorship  ;  for  that  he  had  a  right  to  do, 
even  if  really  Junius  ;  since,  if  veracity  could  be  supposed 
any  duty  in  such  a  case,  then  it  was  idle,  from  the  first, 
to   assume  a  masque  ;  a  masque  that   would   be  at  th^ 


268  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

mercy  of  the  first  person  who  chose  to  go  beyond  others 
in  impertinence.  Surely  impertinence  ought  to  create  no 
special  right  over  another  man's  secret.  And,  therefore, 
along  with  the  disguise,  any  sensible  man  must  be  pre- 
sumed to  take  up  the  privilege  of  saying  '  No,''  as  one 
essential  accessory  and  adjunct  to  that  disguise.  But, 
argued  Johnson,  Burke  vohmteered  the  disavowal  ;  made 
it  spontaneously,  when  nobody  questioned  him.  Being, 
therefore,  not  called  on  for  this  as  a  measure  of  defence, 
on  that  ground  I  hold  him  to  have  spoken  the  truth  in 
disavowing  Junius.  This  defence  of  a  prudential  untruth, 
in  a  case  supposed,  was  well  known  to  Francis.  Armed 
with  this  authoritative  sanction.  Sir  Philip  —  a  mere  lax 
man  of  the  world  —  would  readily  have  resorted  to  a 
falsehood,  even  in  a  case  no  stronger  than  Dr.  Johnson's 
casuistry  supposed.  But,  in  fact,  as  we  shall  see,  Ms 
was  a  great  deal  stronger ;  so  that,  a  fortiori,  he  had 
the  doctor's  permission  to  make  the  boldest  denial ;  and 
such  a  denial  we  should,  in  such  a  case,  be  entitled  to 
hold  as  none  at  all.  And  yet,  after  all,  he  only  allows 
himself  an  apparent  denial  ;  one  which  depends,  for  its 
effect,  upon  the  haste  and  inaccuracy  of  the  reader. 

What  then  was  the  case  of  Sir  Philip,  which  I  affirm  to 
be  so  much  stronger  than  that  which  had  been  contem- 
plated by  Dr.  Johnson,  as  a  case  justifying  a  denial  of  the 
truth  ?  It  was  this  :  Sir  Philip  Francis  was  the  creature 
of  Junius.  Whatever  Sir  Philip  had  —  his  wealth,  his 
honors,  his  consideration,  were  owing  to  the  letters  of 
Junius  ;  to  the  power  which  he  had  obtained  under  that 
signature  ;  and  to  the  mode  in  which,  having  obtained 
power  like  a  thief,  he  had  sold  it  like  a  traitor.  Armed 
with  that  potent  spell,  he  had  made  himself,  first,  formi- 
dable to  the  King  and  to  his  Cabinet ;  secondly,  had 
brought  himself,  when  thus  armed,  into  the  market  for 


JUNIUS.  269 

sale.  But  how  ?  By  wliat  means  ?  I  answer :  By  the 
blackest  treachery  ;  by  a  double  treachery  ;  by  treachery, 
as  respected  the  way  in  which  he  rose  into  Junius ;  and 
by  an  equal  treachery  to  his  own  principles,  as  Junius,  in 
his  mode  of  laying  down  that  character.  How  is  it,  do 
we  suppose,  that  Junius  had  won  the  national  ear  ?  Not 
by  the  means  (generally  presumed)  of  fine  composition. 
No  :  but  by  the  reputation  he  enjoyed  of  having  won  the 
ear  of  the  King's  government.  And  he  had  so  ;  it  was  no 
false  reputation.  But  again  I  say,  in  this  case  also, 
How  ?  If  the  public  could  be  won  by  such  tinkling 
music,  is  any  man  childish  enough  to  suppose  that  the 
care-laden  Ministers  of  a  great  nation,  overwhelmed  by 
business,  would  find  leisure  to  read  Cato  or  Piihlicola, 
purely  for  the  value  of  their  style  or  their  tropes  ?  No  : 
the  true  cause  was,  that  Ministers  found,  in  these  letters, 
proofs  of  some  enemy,  some  spy,  being  amongst  them. 
Did  they  join  the  popular  cry — 'Here  is  a  great  rheto- 
rician ? '  Never  believe  it ;  but,  '  Here  is  a  great  thief.' 
Not  the  eloquence,  but  the  larceny  moved  their  anxieties. 
State  secrets  were  betrayed.  Francis  was  the  spy.  He 
picked  Lord  Barrington's  locks ;  he  practised  daily  as  an 
eavesdropper  upon  Lord  Barrington's  private  communica- 
tions with  Ministers :  he  abused,  for  his  own  purposes,  the 
information,  select  and  secret,  which  often  came  before 
him  officially,  in  his  character  of  clerk  at  the  War-Office. 
In  short,  he  was  an  unfaithful  servant,  who,  first  of  all, 
built  himself  up  into  terror  and  power  as  Junius,  on  a 
thorough-going  plan  of  disloj'alty  to  his  patron,  and  after- 
wards built  himself  up  into  the  Right  Honorable  Sir  Philip 
Francis,  Knight  of  the  Bath,  Privy  Councillor,  one  of  the 
Supreme  Council  in  Bengal,  with  ^12,000  per  annum  ; 
all  this  upon  a  disloyalty  equally  deliberate  to  all  the 
principles  and  the  patriotism  which  he  had  professed  as 


270  LITEKARY   REMINISCENCES. 

Junius.  The  first  perfidy  would  only  have  put  a  gay 
feather  into  his  cap;  this  he  improved  Into  a  second, 
which  brought  him  place,  honor,  '  troops  of  friends,'  this 
world's  wealth,  in  short,  and  every  mode  of  prosperity  but 
one ;  which  one  was  peace  of  mind  and  an  unclouded 
conscience.  Such  was  the  brief  abstract  of  Sir  Philip's 
history.  Now,  though  most  men  would  not,  yet  there 
were  still  surviving  very  many  who  would,  upon  any 
direct  avowal  that  he  was  Junius,  at  once  put  '  this '  and 
'that'  together,  and,  in  one  moment  of  time,  come  to 
unlock  what  had  always  been  something  of  a  mystery  to 
Mr.  Francis's  friends  at  home  —  viz.,  how  it  was  that  he, 
the  obscure  clerk  of  the  War-Office,  notoriously  upon  bad 
terms  with  Lord  Barrington,  his  principal,  had,  neverthe- 
less, shot  up  all  at  once  into  a  powerful  Oriental  satrap. 
The  steps,  the  missing  gradation,  would  suddenly  be 
recovered,  and  connected  into  a  whole.  '  Thou  hast  it, 
Cawdor  ! '  The  metamorphosis  of  Francis  into  the  Ben- 
gal potentate  was  unintelligible  :  but  the  intermediation 
of  Junius  would  harmonize  all  difficulties.  Thus  grew 
Francis  the  clerk  into  Junius,  (viz.,  by  treason.)  Thus 
grew  Junius  the  demagogue  into  Francis  the  Rajah,  viz., 
by  selling  his  treason.  '  You  are  Junius  ?  '  it  would  be 
said:  '  Why  then,  you  are  a  very  hriUiant  fellow.''  That 
would  be  the  first  reflection ;  but  then  would  come  a 
second  on  the  heels  of  that :  —  ^And  a  most  unprincij^led 
knave,  7v]io  rose  into  great  consideration  hy  filching  his 
master''s  secrets.' 

Here,  then,  we  read  the  true  secret  of  his  chicanery  in 
replying  to  Sir  R.  Phillips.  Had  he  been  thoroughly 
determined  to  disavow  Junius,  could  he  have  brought  his 
heart  to  do  so,  we  may  be  sure  that  he  would  not  have 
needed  (Junius  would  have  known  how  to  find  clear 
language)  to  speak  so  obscurely  as  he  has  done  in  this 


jUNiirs.  271 

short  reply.  Neither  would  he  have  contented  himself 
with  any  simple  denial;  he  would  have  recited  some 
facts  in  his  life  circumstantiating  his  denial.  But  this 
was  not  in  his  power  to  do  ;  nor  did  he  sincerely  wish 
it.  Naturally  he  must  have  clung,  with  a  perfect 
rapture  of  vanity,  to  his  own  too  famous  production. 
Respect  for  his  own  character  forbade  him  to  avow  it. 
Parental  vanity  forbade  him  so  to  disavow  it,  as  that  he 
could  never  have  reclaimed  it.  Sir  Philip  Francis  had 
been  a  great  criminal ;  but  his  crime  produced  its  own 
intolerable  punishment.  The  tantalization  of  his  heart 
when  denied  the  privilege,  open  to  every  other  human 
being,  of  claiming  the  products  of  his  own  brain  and  of 
his  own  excessive  *  labor,  must  have  been  a  perpetual 
martyrdom.  And,  in  this  statement  of  the  case,  we  read 
a  natural  solution  of  two  else  inexplicable  facts  :  first, 
why  Sir  P.  Francis  (supposing  him  Junius)  did  not 
come  forward  to  claim  his  work.  And,  secondly,  why* 
Junius,  the  mysterious  Junius,  old  '  Nominis  umhra^ 
(supposing  him  Francis,)  did  not  come  forwai'd  to  pro- 
claim his  own  name.  To  presume  Francis  and  Junius 
one  and  the  same  person,  at  once  explains  both  mysteries. 
Upon  the  Taylorian  hypothesis,  all  is  made  clear  as  day- 
light why  Junius  did  not  avow  his  name  —  why  Francis 
did  not  claim  his  literary  honors.  Upon  such  an  account 
only  is  it  possible  to  explain  the  case.  All  other  accounts 
leave  it  a  perpetual  mystery,  unfathomable  upon  any 
principles  of  human  nature,  why  Junius  did  not,  at  least, 
make  his  claim  by  means  of  some  last  will  and  testa- 
ment.    We  cannot  imagine  that  a  writer,  evidently  under 


*  '  His  own  excessive  labor ; '  —  'Is  there  no  labor  in  these  letters  ? ' 
asks  JuqIus,  in  a  tone  of  triumphant  appeal.  And,  on  other  occasions, 
he  insists  upon  the  vast  toil  which  the  composition  cost  him. 


272  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

the  most  intense  worldly  influences  of  vain-glory  and 
ambition,  should  voluntarily  have  made  a  sacrifice  (and 
a  sacrifice  with  no  apparent  motive)  of  what,  in  the 
pardonable  exaggeration  of  an  author's  vanity,  must,  to 
him,  have  appeared  one  of  the  greatest  works  in  political 
as  also  in  rhetorical  literature.  Such  an  act  of  austere 
self-mortification  is  inconceivable,  except  amongst  the 
most  rapturous  devotees  of  the  Romish  church  :  shame 
only  or  fear  *  can  avail  to  solve  the  enigma.  But  fear, 
if  at  all  admitted  as  applicable  to  the  case,  could  not 
extend  beyond  his  own  term  of  life  :  that  motive  cannot 
explain  the  silence  of  his  last  will  and  testament.  There, 
at  least,  he  would  have  spoken  out  to  posterity,  and  his 
own  surviving  compatriots.  '  If  I  live,'  says  he,  in  his 
Dedication  to  the  People  of  England,  '  you  shall  often 
hear  of  me.'  And,  doubtless,  even  in  dying,  if  he  forgot 
tliem^  he  would  remember  himself  and  his  own  really 
/nemorable  pretensions.  He  would  not  forget,  at  least, 
to  order  some  inscription  on  his  own  grave,  pointing 
backwards  to  the  gay  trophies  of  him  who  had  extorted 
fear  from  kings,  and  admiration  from  angry  senates,  f 
This  he  would  have  done :  this  he  has  not  done  ;  and  a 
principle  of  shame  only,  operating  in  the  way  1  have 
mentioned,  is  a  case  capable  of  explaining  it.  That  case 
is  precisely  the  case  of  Sir  Philip  Francis. 


*  '  Fear : '  — '  Sir  William  would  meet  me  in  the  field  :  others  would 
assassinate.'  —  Junius  to  Sir  Win.  Draper. 

t '  He  icould  not  have  forgotten,  at  least,  to  order  some  inscription  on 
his  own  grave,'  &c.  Accordingly,  there  is  in  The  Anti-Jacobin  Review, 
a  story  told  of  a  stranger  dying  at  a  village  inn,  somewhere,  I  think,  in 
Buckinghamshire,  and  directing  that  no  memorial  should  be  placed  upon 
his  grave,  beyond  the  initial  letters  of  his  name,  and  the  motto  of  Junius, 
'  Stat  nominis  umbra.'  So  much  weight  was  attached  to  the  story,  that 
Charles  Fox  is  said  to  have  visited  his  grave.  Probably  the  whole  is  a 
fiction. 


JUNIUS.  273 

It  remains  only  to  say,  that,  by  neglecting  to  press 
these  facts  and  their  natural  construction  against  Sir 
Philip,  Mr.  Taylor  allowed  the  only  powerful  argument 
against  his  hypothesis  to  stand  unanswered.  A  motive  of 
kindness  towards  the  unhappy  Sir  Philip  himself,  and 
consideration  for  the  pious  feelings  of  his  son  and 
daughter,  may  have  influenced  Mr.  Taylor  in  this  for- 
bearance. All  are  now  dead  ;  and  these  restraints  can 
operate  no  longer.  But  even  in  the  lifetime  of  the 
parties,  surely  enough  might  have  been  hinted  to  main- 
tain the  impregnability  of  the  hypothesis,  without  seri- 
ously wounding  the  sensibilities  of  Sir  Philip.  These 
sensibilities  merited  respect ;  inasmuch,  as  though  point- 
ing to  a  past  chapter  of  deep  criminality,  it  is  not 
impossible  that  they  had  long  connected  themselves  with 
virtuous  feelings  of  remorse,  and  a  suffering  sense  of 
honor  ;  most  assuredly  they  brought  along  with  them  the 
bitterest  chastisement,  by  that  unexampled  self-sacrifice 
which  they  entailed.  But  all  this  might  have  been  met 
and  faced  by  Mr.  Taylor :  the  reader  might  have  been 
summoned  in  general  terms,  before  allowing  an  unneces- 
sary weight  to  the  fact  of  Sir  Philip's  apparent  renuncia- 
tion of  the  claim  made  on  his  behalf,  to  consider  two 
capital  points ;  first,  whether  he  really  had,  renounced  it, 
and  in  such  terms  as  admitted  of  no  equivocal  construc- 
tion ;  secondly,  whether  (even  supposing  him  to  have 
done  this  in  the  amplest  sense,  and  with  no  sort  of 
reserve)  there  might  not  appear  some  circumstances  in 
the  past  recital  of  Sir  Philip's  connection  with  the 
War-Office  and  Lord  Barrington,  which  would  forcibly 
restrain  him  in  old  age,  when  clothed  with  high  state 
characters,  of  senator  and  privy  counsellor,  invested 
therefore  with  grave  obligations  of  duty  ;  I  say,  restrain 
him  from  seeming,  by  thus  assuming  the  imputed  author- 

VOL.   II.  18 


274  LITEKARY    REMINISCENCES. 

ship,  to  assume,  along  with  it,  the  responsibility  attaching 
to  certain  breaches  of  confidence,  which  the  temptations 
of  ambition,  and  the  ardor  of  partisanship,  might  palliate 
in  a  young  man,  but  which  it  would  not  become  an 
old  one  to  adopt  and  own,  under  any  palliations  whatever, 
or  upon  any  temptations  of  literary  gain.  Such  an 
appeal  as  this  could  not  greatly  have  distressed  Sir  Philip 
Francis,  or  not  more,  however,  than  he  had  already  been 
distressed  by  the  inevitable  disclosures  of  the  investiga- 
tion itself,  as  connected  with  the  capital  thesis  of  Mr. 
Taylor,  that  Francis  and  Junius  were  the  self-same 
person. 

Here,  therefore,  was  a  great  oversight  of  Mr,  Taylor ; 
and  over  the  results  of  this  oversight  —  his  discoveries  — 
the  unconquerable  points  of  his  exposure  have  not  yet 
established  their  victory.  I  may  mention,  however,  that 
Sir  Philip  so  far  dallied  with  the  gratification  offered  to 
his  vanity  in  this  public  association  of  his  name  with 
Junius  as  to  call  upon  Mr.  Taylor.  His  visit  seemed 
partly  a  sort  of  tentative  measure,  adopted  in  a  spirit  of 
double  uncertainty  —  uncertainty  about  the  exact  quantity 
of  proof  that  Mr.  Taylor  might  have  accumulated ;  and 
uncertainty  again,  about  the  exact  temper  of  mind  in 
which  it  became  him  to  receive  the  new  discoveries.  He 
affected  to  be  surprised  that  anybody  should  ever  have 
thought  of  him  in  connection  with  Junius.  Now,  possi- 
bly, this  was  a  mere  careless  expression,  uttered  simply 
by  way  of  an  introduction  to  the  subsequent  conversation. 
Else,  and  if  it  were  said  deliberately,  it  showed  great 
weakness  ;  for,  assuredly,  Sir  Philip  was  too  much  a  man 
of  shrewd  sagacity  to  fail  in  perceiving  that,  were  it  even 
possible  for  presumptions,  so  many  and  so  strong,  to  be, 
after  all,  compatible  with  final  falsehood,  still  a  case  had 
been  made  out  far  too  strong  for  any  man  unaffectedly  to 


JUNIUS.  275 

pretend  surprise  at  its  winning  soxwc  prima  facie  credit. 
Mr.  Taylor  naturally  declined  re-arguing  the  case ;  he 
resigned  it  to  its  own  merits,  which  must  soon  dispose  of 
it  in  public  estimation,  but  at  the  same  time  protested 
against  having  viewed  his  discovery  in  any  other  light 
than  that  of  honor  to  Sir  Philip  ;  indeed,  in  a  literary 
sense,  who  would  not  be  honored  (he  asked)  by  the 
imputation  of  being  Junius  ?  So  closed  the  conversation 
substantially  on  the  respondent's  part.  But  the  appellant, 
Sir  Philip,  gave  a  singular  turn  to  his  part,  which  thus  far 
had  been  rather  to  him  a  tone  of  expostulation,  by  saying 
in  conclusion  — 

'  Well,  at  least,  I  think,  you  can  do  no  less  than  send 
me  a  copy  of  your  book.' 

This,  of  course,  was  done ;  and,  with  some  slight 
interchange  of  civilities  attending  the  transmission  of  the 
book,  I  believe  the  intercourse  terminated. 

Sir  Philip  suffered  under  a  most  cruel  disease,  which 
soon  put  an  end  to  his  troubled  life ;  and  my  own  belief 
is,  that  there  ended  as  agitated  an  existence  as  can  have 
been  supported  by  frail  humanity.  He  was  naturally  a 
man  of  bad  and  harsh  disposition :  insolent,  arrogant,  and 
ill-tempered.  Constitutionally,  he  was  irritable  ;  bodily 
sufferings  had  exasperated  the  infirmities  of  his  temper; 
and  the  mixed  agony  of  body  and  mind  in  which  .he 
passed  his  latter  years,  must  have  been  fearful  even  to 
contemplate.  The  Letters  of  Junius  certainly  show  very 
little  variety  or  extent  of  thought ;  no  comprehensive 
grasp ;  no  principles  of  any  kind,  false  or  sound ;  no 
powers,  in  fact,  beyond  the  powers  of  sarcasm ;  but  they 
have  that  sort  of  modulated  rhythm,  and  that  air  of  clas- 
sical chastity,  (perhaps  arising  more  from  the  penury  of 
ornament,  and  the  absence  of  any  impassioned  eloquence, 
than  from  any  positive  causes,)  which,  co-operating  with 


276  LITERARY     REMINISCENCES, 

the  shortness  of  the  periods,  and  the  unparalleled  felicity 
of  their  sarcasms,  would,  at  any  rate,  have  conciliated 
the  public  notice.  They  have  exactly  that  sort  of  talent 
which  the  owner  is  sure  to  overrate.  But  the  inten- 
sity, the  sudden  growth,  and  the  durability*  of  their 
fame,  were  due,  (as  I  must  ever  contend,)  not  to  any 
qualities  of  style  or  composition  —  though,  doubtless, 
these  it  is  which  co-operated  with  the  thick  cloak  of 
mystery,  to  sustain  a  reputation  once  gained  —  but  to  the 
knowledge  dispersed  through  London  society,  that  the 
Government  had  been  appalled  by  Junius,  as  one  who, 
in  some  way  or  other,  had  possessed  himself  of  their 
secrets. 

The  London  Magazine,  of  whose  two  publishers  (editors 
also)  I  have  thus  introduced  to  the  reader  that  one  who 
had  also  distinguished  himself  as  an  author,  was  at  that 
time  brilliantly  supported.  And  strange  it  is,  and  also  has 
been  to  others  as  well  as  myself,  that  such  a  work  should 
not  have  prospered ;  but  prosper  it  did  not.  Meantime, 
the  following  writers  were,  in  1821-23,  amongst  my  own 
collalorateurs :  —  Charles  Lamb  ;  Hazlitt ;  Allan  Cunning- 
ham; Hood;  Hamilton  Reynolds;  Carey,  the  unrivalled 
translator  of  Dante  ;  Crow,  the  Public  Orator  of  Oxford. 
And  so  well  were  all  departments  provided  for,  that  even 
the  monthly  abstract  of  politics,  brief  as  it  necessarily 
was,  had  been  confided  to  the  care  of  Phillips,  the  cele- 
brated Irish  barrister.  Certainly  a  Yiterary  Pleiad  might 
have  been  gathered  out  of  the  stars  connected  with  this 
journal;  and  others  there  were,  I  believe,  occasional  con- 

*  '  The  durability,'  &c.  —  It  is,  however,  remarkable  that,  since  the 
great  expansion  of  the  public  mind  by  political  discussions  consequent 
upon  the  Reform  Bill,  Junius  is  no  longer  found  a  saleable  book :  so,  at 
least,  I  have  heard  from  various  persons. 


CLAKE.  277 

tributors,  who  could  not  be  absolutely  counted  upon,  and 
therefore  I  do  not  mention  them.  One,  however,  who 
johied  The  London  in  1823,  I  think,  calls  /or  a  separate 
mention  —  namely,  Clare,  the  peasant  poet  of  Northamp- 
tonshire. 

Our  Scottish  brethren  are  rather  too  apt,  in  the  excess 
of  that  nationality,  (which,  dying  away  in  some  classes,  is 
still  burning  fervently  in  others,)  and  which,  though  giving 
a  just  right  of  complaint  to  those  who  suffer  by  it,  and 
though  direfully  disfiguring  the  liberality  of  the  national 
manners,  yet  stimulates  the  national  rivalship  usefully  ;  — 
our  Scottish  brethren,  1  say,  are  rather  too  apt  to  talk  as 
if,  in  Scotland  only,  there  were  any  precedents  to  be 
found  of  intellectual  merit  struggling  upwards  in  the  class 
of  rustic  poverty.  Whereas  there  has,  in  England,  been 
a  larger  succession  of  such  persons  than  in  Scotland. 
Inquire,  for  instance,  as  to  the  proportion  of  those  who 
have  risen  to  distinction  by  mere  weight  of  unassisted  merit, 
in  this  present  generation,  at  the  English  bar  :  and  then 
inquire  as  to  the  corresponding  proportion  at  the  Scotch 
bar.  Oftentimes  it  happens  that,  in  the  poetry  of  this 
class,  little  more  is  found  than  the  gift  of  a  tolerable  good 
ear  for  managing  the  common  metres  of  the  language. 
But  in  Clare  it  was  otherwise.  His  poems  were  not  the 
mere  reflexes  of  his  readino;.  He  had  studied  for  himself 
in  the  fields,  and  in  the  woods,  and  by  the  side  of  brooks. 
I  very  much  doubt  if  there  could  be  found,  in  his  poems, 
a  single  commonplace  image,  or  a  description  made  up 
of  hackneyed  elements.  In  that  respect,  his  poems  are 
original,  and  have  even  a  separate  value,  as  a  sort  of 
calendar  (in  extent,  of  course,  a  very  limited  one)  of 
many  rural  appearances,  of  incidents  in  the  fields  not 
elsewhere  noticed,  and  of  the  loveliest  flowers  most  felici- 
tously described.     The  description  is  often  true  even  to  a 


278  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

botanical  eye  ;  and  in  that,  perhaps,  lies  the  chief  defect ; 
not  properly  in  the  scientific  accuracy,  but  that,  in  search- 
ing after  this  too  earnestly,  the  feeling  is  sometimes  too 
much  neglected.  However,  taken  as  a  whole,  liis  poems 
have  a  very  novel  quality  of  merit,  though  a  quality  too 
little,  I  fear,  in  the  way  of  public  notice.  Messrs.  Taylor 
&  Hessey  had  been  very  kind  to  him;  and,  through 
them,  the  late  Lord  Fitzwilliam  had  settled  an  annuity 
upon  him.  In  reality,  the  annuity  had  been  so  far  in- 
creased, I  believe,  by  the  publishers,  as  to  release  him 
from  the  necessities  of  daily  toil.  He  had  thus  his  time  at 
his  own  command ;  and,  in  1824,  perhaps  upon  some 
literary  scheme,  he  came  up  to  London,  where,  by  a  few 
noble  families  and  by  his  liberal  publishers,  he  was  wel- 
comed in  a  way  that,  I  fear,  from  all  I  heard,  would  but 
too  much  embitter  the  contrast  with  his  own  humble 
opportunities  of  enjoyment  in  the  country.  The  contrast 
of  Lord  Radstock's  brilliant  parties,  and  the  glittering 
theatres  of  London,  would  have  but  a  poor  effect  in  train- 
inff  him  to  bear  that  v/ant  of  excitement  which  even 
already,  I  had  heard,  made  his  rural  life  but  too  insup- 
portable to  his  mind.  It  is  singular  that  what  most 
fascinated  his  rustic  English  eye,  was  not  the  gorgeous 
display  of  Englisli  beauty,  but  the  French  style  of  beauty 
as  he  saw  it  amongst  the  French  actresses  in  Tottenham 
Court  Road.  He  seemed,  however,  oppressed  by  the 
glare  and  tumultuous  existence  of  London  ;  and  being  ill 
at  the  time,  from  an  affection  of  the  liver,  which  did  not, 
of  course,  tend  to  improve  his  spirits,  he  threw  a  weight 
of  languor  upon  any  attempt  to  draw  him  out  into  conver- 
sation. One  thing,  meantime,  was  very  honorable  to  him, 
that  even  in  this  season  of  dejection,  he  would  uniformly 
become  animated  when  anybody  spoke  to  him  of  Words- 
worth—  animated  with  the  most  hearty  and  almost  rap- 


ALLAN    CUNNINGHAM.  -  279 

turous  spirit  of  admiration.  As  regarded  his  own  poems, 
this  admiration  seemed  to  have  an  unhappy  effect  of 
depressing  his  confidence  in  himself.  It  is  unfortunate, 
indeed,  to  gaze  too  closely  upon  models  of  colossal  excel- 
lence. Compared  with  those  of  his  own  class,  I  feel  satis- 
fied that  Clare  will  always  maintain  an  honorable  place. 

Very  different,  though  originally  in  the  very  same  class 
of  rustic  laborers  and  rustic  poets,  (a  fact  which  I  need 
not  disguise,  since  he  proclaims  it  himself  upon  every 
occasion  with  a  well-directed  pride,)  is  another  of  that 
London  society  in  1821-23,  viz.,  Allan  Cunningham. 
About  this  author  I  had  a  special  interest.  I  had  read, 
and  with  much  pleasure,  a  volume  called  '  Nithisdale 
and  Galloway  Song,'  which  professed  to  contain  fugitive 
poems  of  that  country,  gathered  together  by  Mr.  Cromek, 
the  engraver :  the  same  person,  I  believed,  who  published 
a  supplementary  volume  to  Dr.  Currie's  edition  of  Burns. 
The  whole  of  these,  I  had  heard,  were  a  forgery  by  Allan 
Cunningham;  and  one,  at  any  rate,  was  so  —  by  far  the 
most  exquisite  gem  in  the  volume.  It  was  a  fragment  of 
only  three  stanzas  ;  and  the  situation  must  be  supposed 
that  of  a  child  lying  in  a  forest  amongst  the  snow,  just  at 
the  point  of  death.     The  child  must  be  supposed  to  speak  : 

'  Gone  were  but  the  cold. 

And  gone  were  but  the  snow, 
I  could  sleep  in  the  wild  woods, 
Where  the  primroses  blow. 

*  Cold  's  the  snow  at  my  head, 

And  cold  's  the  snow  at  my  feet ; 
And  the  finger  of  death 's  at  my  eyes  ; 
Closing  them  to  sleep. 

'  Let  none  tell  my  fixther. 

Or  my  mother  so  dear  ; 
I'll  meet  them  both  in  heaven, 
At  the  spring-time  of  the  year. ' 


280  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

These  lines  of  Allan  Cunningham  (so  I  call  him,  for  so 
he  called  himself  upon  his  visiting  cards)  had  appeared 
to  me  so  exquisite  a  breathing  of  the  pastoral  muse,  that, 
had  it  been  for  these  alone,  I  should  have  desired  to 
make  his  acquaintance.  But  I  had  also  read  some 
papers  on  gipsy  life,  embodying  several  striking  gipsy 
traditions,  by  the  same  author.  These  were  published 
in  early  numbers  of  Blackwood'' s  Magazine  ;  and  had, 
apparently,  introduced  situations,  and  scenes,  and  inci- 
dents, from  the  personal  recollections  of  the  author. 
Such  was  my  belief,  at  least.  In  parts,  they  were 
impressively  executed :  and  a  singular  contrast  they 
afforded  to  the  situation  and  daily  life  of  the  same 
Allan,  planted  and  rooted,  as  it  were,  amongst  London 
scenery.  Allan  was —  (what  shall  I  say  ?  To  a  man  of 
genius,  I  would  not  apply  the  coarse  mercantile  term  of 
foreman  ;  and  the  fact  is,  that  he  stood  on  a  more  confi- 
dential footing  than  is  implied  by  that  term,  with  his 
employer) — he  was  then  a  sort  of  right-hand  man,  an 
agent  equally  for  mechanical  and  for  intellectual  pur- 
poses, to  Chantrey  the  sculptor :  he  was  an  agent,  also, 
in  transactions  not  strictly  either  the  one  or  the  other  ; 
cases  which  may  be  called,  therefore,  mechanico-intel- 
lectual ;  or,  according  to  a  pleasant  distinction  of  Pro- 
fessor Wilson's,  he  was  an  agent  for  the  '  coarse  '  arts 
as  well  as  the  '  fine '  arts ;  sometimes  in  separation, 
sometimes  in  union.  This  I  mention,  as  arguing  the 
versatility  of  his  powers :  few  men  beside  himself  could 
have  filled  a  station  running  through  so  large  a  scale  of 
duties.  Accordingly,  he  measured  out  and  apportioned 
each  day's  work  to  the  several  working  sculptors  in 
Chantrey's  yard  :  this  was  the  most  mechanical  part  of 
his  services.  On  the  other  hand,  at  the  opposite  pole  of 
his  functions,   he  was  often  (I  believe)   found  useful  to 


ALLAN   CUNNINGHAM.  281 

Chantrey  as  an  umpire  ia  questions  of  taste,  or,  perhaps, 
as  a  suggester  of  original  hints,  in  the  very  higliest  wallcs 
of  the  art.  Various  indications  of  natural  disposition  for 
these  efforts,  aided  greatly,  and  unfolded  by  daily  con- 
versation with  all  the  artists  and  amateurs  resorting  to 
Chantrcy's  studio,  will  be  found  in  his  popular  '  Lives  of 
the  Painters  and  Sculptors.'  His  particular  opinions  are, 
doubtless,  often  liable  to  question  ;  but  they  show  proof 
everywhere  of  active  and  sincere  thinking  :  and,  in  two 
of  his  leading  peculiarities,  upon  questions  of  cBsthetics^ 
(to  speak  Gernianice,)  I  felt  too  close  an  approach  in 
Cunningham  to  opinions  which  I  had  always  entertained 
myself,  not  to  have  been  prejudiced  very  favorably  in  his 
behalf.  They  were  these  :  —  He  avowed  an  unqualified 
scbrn  of  Ossian  ;  such  a  scorn  as  every  man  that  ever 
looked  at  Nature  with  his  own  eyes,  and  not  through 
books,  must  secretly  entertain.  Heavens  !  what  poverty  : 
secondly,  what  monotony  :  thirdly,  what  falsehood  of 
imagery  !  Scorn,  therefore,  he  avowed  of  Ossian  ;  and, 
in  the  next  place,  scorn  of  the  insipidities — when  applied 
to  the  plastic  arts,  (sculpture  or  painting)  —  embalmed  by 
modern  allegory.  Britannia,  supported  by  Peace  on  one 
side  and  Prosperity  on  the  other,  beckons  to  Inoculation 
—  '  Heavenly  maid  '  —  and  to  Vaccination  in  the  rear, 
who,  mounted  upon  the  car  of  Liberality,  hurls  her  spear 
at  the  dragon  of  Small-Pox-Hospitalism,  &c.  «S:c.  But 
why  quote  instances  of  that  which  every  stone-cutter's 
yard  supplies  in  nauseous  prodigality  ?  These  singu- 
larities of  taste,  at  least,  speaking  of  Ossian,*  (for,  as  to 


*  With  respect  to  Ossian,  I  liave  heard  it  urged,  by  way  of  an  argu- 
mentum  ad  homincm,  in  arguing  the  case  with  myself,  as  a  known  devo- 
tee of  Wordsworth,  that  he,  Wordsworth,  had  professed  honor  for  Ossian, 
by  writing  an  epitaph  for  his  supposed  grave  in  Glen  Alvun'ii.  By  no 
means:    Wordsworth's  fine   lines   are   not  upon   the   pscudo- Ossian  of 


282  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

allegory,  it  is  rather  tolerated  by  the  public  mind  than, 
positively  approved,)  plead  thus  far  iu  any  man's  favor, 
that  they  argue  a  healthy  sincerity  of  the  sensibilities,  not 
liable  to  be  duped  by  the  vague,  the  superficial,  or  the 
unreal ;  nor,  finally,  by  precedent  and  authority. 

Such  were  the  grounds  upon  which  I  looked  forward, 
with  some  pleasure,  to  my  first  interview  with  Allan 
Cunningham.  This  took  place  at  a  dinner  given  by  my 
publishers,  soon  after  the  publication  of  the  Opium 
Confessions  ;  at  which  dinner,  to  say  the  truth,  I  soon 
after  suspected  (and  with  some  vexation)  that  I  had 
myself,  unconsciously,  played  the  part  of  lion.  At  that 
time  I  was  ill,  beyond  what  any  man  would,  believe,  who 
saw  me  out  of  bed  :  and,  in  the  mere  facility  of  unre- 
flecting good  nature,  I  had  consented  to  attend,  on  the 
assurance  that  '  only  a  friend  or  two '  would  be  present. 
However,  it  proved  to  be  a  general  gathering,/ frequent 
and  full,'  of  all  the  wits,  keen  and  brilliant,  associated  in 
the  literary  journal  to  which  I  had  committed  my  earliest 
experiences.  Dinner  was  fixed  at  '  half-past  five,  for 
six;''  and,  from  some  mistake,  it  happened  that  I  was 
amongst  the  earliest  arrivals.  As  an  invalid,  or,  as  the 
hero  of  the  day,  I  was  planted  inexorably,  without  retreat, 
in  the  place  of  honor  by  the  fireside ;  for  the  month  was 
deep  November.  Judge  of  my  despair,  when  there 
began  to  file  in  one  suspicious-looking  fellow  after 
another  —  {suspicious  to  me  at  that  moment ;  because, 
by  the  expression  of  the  eye,  looking  all  made  up  for 
'play,'  and  some  of  them  for  'mischief') — one  after 
another,    I   say ;    annunciation    upon    annunciation    suc- 

Macpherson,  not  upon  the  cataphysical  one-stringed  lutanist  of  Morven, 
but  upon  Ossian,  the  hero  and  the  poet,  of  Grelic  tradition.  We  scorn 
the  Ossian  of  1766.  No  man  scorns  Ossian  the  son  of  Fingal  of  A.  D. 
366. 


ALLAN   CUNNINGHAM. 


283 


ceeded   with    frightful    rapidity,    until    the    small    back 
drawinsc-room  of  our  host  bccjan  to  overflow.     I  believe 
the    fashion    of  not    introducing    dinner   visiters  to   each 
other   was  just  then    (1821)    beginning   to  be    popular: 
either  for    that   reason,   or  not  to    overwhelm   my   weak 
spirits,  I  was  not  often  summoned  to  this  ceremony  :  but, 
on  two  or  three  more  select  arrivals,  I  toas  :  in  such  cases 
I  had  to  stand  formal  presentation  to  the  parties.     One  of 
these   was  Mr.    (no,  he  will  be  as  angry  as    O'Gorman 
Mahon  or  The  Chisholm,  if  I  say  Mr.)  Allan  Cunning- 
ham ;  and,  from  the  light  of  a  November  fire,  I  first  saw 
reflected  the  dark  flashing  guerilla  eye  of  Allan  Cunning- 
ham.    Dark    it   was,   and    deep   w^ith   meaning ;  and  the 
meaning,   as   in    all  cases  of  expressive  eyes,  was  com- 
prehensive,   and,   therefore,   equivocal.      On   the  whole, 
however,    Allan  Cunningham's   expression  did  not   belie 
his  character,  as  afterwards  made  known  to  me  :  he  was 
kind,  liberal,  hospitable,  friendly ;   and  his  whole  natural 
disposition,   as  opposed   to  his  acquifed,  was  genial  and 
fervent.     But  he  had  acquired  feelings  in  which  I  as  an 
Englishman,  was  interested  painfully.     In  particular,  like 
so  many  Scotsmen  of  his  original  rank,  he  had  a  preju- 
dice —  or,     perhaps,    that     is   not    the   word  :    it   was  no 
feeling  that  he  had  derived  from  experience — it  was  an 
old  Scottish  o;rudo;e  :  not  a  feelins  that  he  indulged  to  his 
own  private  sensibiUties,  but  to  his  national  conscience  — 
a  prejudice  against  Englishmen.     He  loved,  perhaps,  this 
and   that  Englishman,  Tom   and  Jack  ;  but  he  hated  us 
English  as  a  body:  it  was  in  vain  to  deny  it.     As  is  the 
master,  such  is  the  company ;  and  too   often,  in  the  kind 
and  hosphable  receptions  of  Allan  Cunningham  and  Mrs. 
Cunningham,  or  other  Scottish  families  residing  in  Lon- 
don, I  heard,  not  from  the  heads  of  the  house,  but  from 
the  visiters,  rueful   attacks   upon   us  poor  English,  and, 


284  LITERARY    REBIINISCENCES. 

above  all,  upon  us,  poor  Oxonians.  Oxford  received  no 
mercy.  O  heavens !  how  my  fingers  itched  to  be  amidst 
the  row  !  Yet,  oftentimes  I  had  no  pretext  for  intermix- 
ing in  the  dispute  —  if  dispute  it  could  be  called,  where, 
generally  speaking,  all  were  of  one  mind. 

The  fact  is  this  :  —  Far  be  it  from  me  to  say  anything 
of  Mr.  Allan  Cunningham's  original  rank,  had  he  not 
taken  a  pride  (and  a  meritorious  pride)  in  asserting  it 
himself.  Now,  that  granted,  all  is  plain.  The  Scotch, 
(or,  to  please  the  fancy  of  our  Transtweedian  brethren, 
the  Scots,*)  in  the  lower  orders  of  society,  do  not  love  the 
English.  Much  I  could  say  on  this  subject,  having  lived 
in  Scotland  for  six  or  seven  years,  and  observed  closely. 
The  Scotch  often  plead  that  the  English  retaliate  this 
dislike,  and  that  no  love  is  lost.  I  think  otherwise  ;  and, 
for  the  present,  I  will  only  report  my  experience  on  last 
Sunday  night  but  one,  January  28,  1838,  in  a  coffee-room 
of  Edinburgh.  I  refer  to  a  day  so  recent,  in  order  that 
the  reader  may  understand  how  little  I  wish  to  rest  upon 
any  selected  case  :  the  chance  case  which  happens  to  stand 
last  in  one's  experience  may  be  presumed  to  be  a  fair 
average  case.  Now,  upon  that  evening,  two  gentlemen 
were  sitting  in  a  box  together  ;  one  of  them  an  Englishman, 
one  a  Scotchman.  High  argument  reigned  between  them. 
The  Englishman  alleged  much  and  weighty  matter,  if  it 
had  been  true,  violently  and  harshly  against  the  Scotch  : 
the  Scotchman  replied  firmly,  but  not  warmly  :  the  Eng- 
lishman rejoined  with  fierceness  ;  both,  at  length,  rose  in  a 
state  of  irritation,  and  went  to  the  fire.  As  they  went, 
the  Scotchman  offered  his  card.  The  Englishman  took 
it ;  and,  without  so  much  as  looking  at  it,  stuffed  it  into 


*  It  is  remarkable  that,  for  what  mysterious  reason  I  never  could  dis- 
cover, thorough  Scolchmen  feel  exceedingly  angry  at  being  so  called  ;  and 
demand,  for  some  cabalistical  cause,  to  be  entitled  Scotsmen. 


ALLAN    CUNNINGHAM.  285 

the  fire.  Upon  this,  up  started  six  gentlemen  in  a 
neighboring,  box,  exclaiming  to  the  soi-disant  Englishman 
— '  Sir,  you  are  a  disgrace  to  your  country  ! '  and  often- 
times eivinir  him  to  understand  that,  in  their  belief,  he  was 
not  an  Englishman.  Aftervvai'ds,  the  quarrel  advanced : 
the  Englishman  throwing  off  his  coat,  or  making  motions 
to  do  so,  challenged  the  Scotchman  to  a  pugilistic  combat. 
The  Scotchman,  who  appeared  thoroughly  cool,  and  de- 
termined not  to  be  provoked,  persisted  in  his  original 
determination  of  meeting  his  antagonist  with  pistols,  were 
it  on  the  next  morning ;  but  steadily  declined  to  fight  on 
the  coarse  terms  proposed.  And  thus  the  quarrel  threat- 
ened to  prove  interminable.  But  how,  meantime,  did  the 
neutral  part  of  the  company  (all,  by  accident.  English- 
men) conduct  themselves  towards  their  own  countryman  > 
Him  they  justly  viewed  as  the  unprovoked  aggressor,  and 
as  the  calumniator  of  Scotland,  in  a  way  that  no  provo- 
cation could  have  justified.  One  and  all,  they  rose  at 
length ;  declared  the  conduct  of  their  countryman  in- 
sufferable ;  and  two  or  three  of  them,  separately,  offered 
their  cards,  as  willing  to  meet  him  either  on  the  next 
morning,  or  any  morning  when  his  convenience  might 
allow,  by  way  of  evading  any  personal  objection  he 
might  plead  to  his  original  challenger.  The  Englishman 
(possibly*  a  Scotchman)  peremptorily  declined  all  chal- 
lenges. 

'  What !  six  or  seven  upon  one  ? ' 

'  Oh  no,  sir  ! '  the  answer  was  ;  '  not  so  :  amongst  Eng- 


*  '  Possibly  a  Scolchman,'  and  very  probably ;  for  there  are  no  more 
bitter  enemies  of  Scotland  and  Scotehmenj  and  all  tilings  Scotch,  than 
banished  Scotchmen — who  may  be  called  renegade  Scotchmen.  There 
is  no  enemy  like  an  old  friend  ;  and  many  a  Scotchman  (or  Scotsman  — 
let  us  not  forget  that)  remembers  Edinburgh,  Glasgow,  Aberdeen,  simjily 
as  the  city  that  ejected  him. 


286  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

lishmen,  if  you  are  one,  you  must  be  well  aware  that  no 
man  meets  with  foul  play  :  any  one  of  ourselves  would 
protect  you  against  the  man  that  should  offer  less  than 
fair  play  to  yourself.' 

The  libeller,  however,  intrenched  himself  in  his  deter- 
mination to  hear  of  no  pistol  warfare  ;  and  hence,  though 
two  of  the  Englishmen  were  of  colossal  build,  and  well 
able  to  have  smashed  his  pugilistic  pretensions,  yet,  as 
all  but  himself  were  opposed  to  that  mode  of  fighting, 
he,  in  fact,  took  shelter  under  his  own  limited  mode  of 
offering  satisfaction.  The  others  would  not  fight  as  he, 
nor  he  as  they ;  and  thus  all  openings  being  closed  to  any 
honorable  mode  of  settling  the  dispute,  at  the  request  of 
the  company,  the  master  of  the  coffee-room,  with  his  long 
*  tail '  of  waiters,  advanced  to  him  with  a  quiet  demeanor, 
but  with  words  so  persuasive  as  induced  him  quietly  to 
withdraw.     And  so  terminated  the  dispute. 

And  now,  let  me  ask,  Is  an  Englishman  likely  to  meet 
with  six  Scotchmen,  in  London,  starting  up  on  behalf  of 
calumniated  England  ?  O,  no ;  painful  it  is  to  tell  of  men 
whom  we,  English,  view  as  our  brothers,  and  whose  land, 
and  institutions,  and  literature,  have,  in  our  days,  been  the 
subject  of  an  absolute  '  craze^'  or,  at  all  events,  of  a  m.ost 
generous  enthusiasm  in  England,  that  nineteen  out  of 
twenty,  among  those  who  are  of  humble  birth  and  con- 
nections, are  but  too  ready  to  join  fervently  in  abuse  of 
the  land  which  shelters  them,  and  supports  their  house- 
hold charities.  Scotchmen,  you  cannot  deny  it.  Now, 
you  hear  from  my  story,  which  is  not  a  fortnight  old,  how 
different,  in  the  same  circumstances,  is  the  conduct  of 
Englishmen.  All,  observe,  joined,  with  one  consent,  in 
the  same  service  —  and  there  were  six,  without  counting 
myself,  who  did  not  belong  to  either  party ;  and  not  one 
of  my  countrymen  stirred  upon  any  principle  of  selfish 


ALLAN    CUNNINGHAM.  287 

honor  ;  none  liad  been  wounded  ;  but  upon  a  generous 
regard  to  the  outraged  character  of  a  country  which  at 
that  moment  was  affording  a  shelter  to  themselves,  which 
they  loved  and  honored,  and  which  was  accidentally 
without  a  defender. 

Would  that,  upon  such  an  impulse,  I  could  have  heard 
Allan  Cunningham  undertaking  the  defence  of  England  or 
of  Englishmen  !  But  this  I  have  not  heard  from  any 
Scotchman,  excepting  only  Professor  Wilson ;  and  he,  to 
show  the  natural  result  of  such  generosity,  is  taxed  with 
Anglomania  by  many  of  his  countrymen.  Allan  Cunning- 
ham offended  somewhat  in  this  point,  not  so  much  in  act^ 
as  by  discovering  his  propensities.  I,  for  my  part,  quar- 
relled also  with  his  too  oriental  prostrations  before  certain 
regular  authors  —  chiefly  Sir  Walter  Scott  and  Southey. 
With  respect  to  them,  he  professed  to  feel  himself  nobody, 
in  a  way  which  no  large  estimator  of  things  as  they  are 
—  of  natural  gifts,  and  their  infinite  distribution  through 
an  infinite  scale  of  degrees,  and  the  compensating 
accomplishments  which  take  place  in  so  vast  a  variety 
of  forms  —  could  easily  tolerate.  Allan  Cunningham 
would  say — 'I  don't  think  myself  worthy  to  be  ac- 
counted an  author  in  comparison  of  such  men ; '  and 
this  he  would  say,  in  a  tone  that  too  much  had  the  sound 
of  including,  in  his  act  of  prostration,  his  hearer  at  the 
moment;  who  might  very  possibly  disdain  so  absolute 
and  unlimited  an  avowal  of  inferiority  —  a  Chinese 
kotou  so  unconditional  J  knowing,  as  know  he  must,  that 
if  in  one  talent  or  one  accomplishment  he  were  much 
inferior,  hopelessly  inferior,  not  the  less  in  some  other 
power,  some  other  talent,  some  other  accomplishment, 
he  might  have  a  right  to  hold  himself  greatly  superior ; 
nay,  might  have  a  right  to  say  —  that  power  I  possess  in 
some  degree ;  and  Sir  Walter  Scott  or  Mr.  Southey  in  no 


288  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

degree  whatever.  For  example :  every  mode  of  philoso- 
phic power  was  denied  to  both  of  these  authors ;  so  that 
he  who  had  that  power,  in  any  degree,  might  reasonably 
demur  to  tliis  prostration,  performed  before  their  images. 
With  respect  to  Sir  Walter  Scott,  in  particular,  the 
homage  of  Allan  Cunningham  was  the  less  merited,  as 
Sir  Walter  had  not  treated  him  with  the  respect  due  to  a 
man  of  so  much  original  genius  :  the  aristocratic  phrase, 
'honest  Allan,'  expressed  little  of  the  courtesy  due  from 
one  man  of  letters  to  another.  And,  in  the  meantime, 
whilst  Allan  Cunningham  was  thus  ready  to  humble 
himself  before  a  countryman  of  his  own,  who  had  not 
treated  him,  in  public,  with  the  proper  consideration,  he 
spoke  of  Wordsworth  [but  certainly  with  this  excuse  — 
that,  in  those  days,  he  knew  nothing  at  all  of  his  works] 
with  something  like  contempt  :  in  fact,  he  had  evidently 
adopted  the  faith  of  the  wretched  journals.  This  alien- 
ated my  feelings  from  Cunningham,  spite  of  his  own 
kind  and  liberal  nature  ;  nay,  spite  of  his  own  natural 
genius. 

One  —  opinion  shall  I  call  it,  fancy,  or  dream  —  of 
Allan  Cunningham's,  is  singular  enough  to  deserve  men- 
tion :  he  maintained  that  the  Scottish  musical  airs  must 
have  an  eternal  foundation  in  nature  ;  that  is  to  say,  must 
have  a  co-eternal  existence  with  the  musical  sense,  for 
the  following  most  extraordinary  reason  ;  nay,  consider- 
ing that  his  veracity  was  unimpeachable,  I  may  say 
marvellous  reason  :  namely,  that  he,  Cunningham,  had, 
without  any  previous  knowledge  of  these  airs,  invented 
all  or  most  of  them  propria  marte ;  so  that,  like  the 
archetypal  ideas  in  some  systems  of  philosophers,  one 
might  afrirm,  upon  his  representation  of  things,  that 
Scottish  airs  were  eternally  present  to  the  ear  of  the 
Demiurgus,   and   eternally  producing  themselves  afresh. 


ALLAN    CUNNINGHAM.  289 

This  seemed  fanciful,  if  not  extravagant ;  and  one,  at 
least,  of  Cunningham's  works  —  that  which  relates  to 
Robert  Bruce  —  is  also  extravagant  in  an  outrageous 
degree.  And,  by  the  way,  on  that  ground,  I  should  have 
guessed  him  to  be  a  man  of  genius,  were  there  even  no 
other  ground ;  for  no  man  but  a  man  of  genius,  and  with 
the  inequality  of  genius,  can,  in  one  state  of  mind,  write 
beautifully,  and,  in  another,  write  the  merest  extrava- 
gance ;  nay,  (with  Cunningham's  cordial  assent,  I  pre- 
sume, that  I  may  say,)  awful  extravagance.  Meantime, 
in  practical  life,  Cunningham  was  anything  but  extrava- 
gant: he  was,  (as  I  have  said,)  in  a  high  intellectual 
sense,  and  in  the  merest  mechanical  sense,  the  right-hand 
man  of  Chantrey,  whom,  by  the  way,  he  always  spoke  of 
with  the  highest  and  evidently  the  sincerest  respect :  he 
was  his  right-hand  man,  also,  in  a  middle  sense,  or,  as  I 
have  said,  a  mechanico-intellectual  way.  For  example, 
he  purchased  all  the  marble  for  Chantrey;  which  might 
require,  perhaps,  mixed  qualifications  :  he  distributed  the 
daily  labors  of  the  workmen ;  which  must  have  required 
such  as  were  purely  mechanic.  He  transacted,  also,  all 
the  negotiations  for  choosing  the  site  of  monuments  to 
be  erected  in  Westminster  Abbey ;  a  commission  which 
might  frequently  demand  some  diplomatic  address  in  the 
conduct  of  the  negotiations  with  the  Abbey  authorities  ;  a 
function  of  his  duties  which  chiefly  regarded  the  interest 
of  his  principal.  Sir  Francis  Chantrey,  as  also  a  just  eye 
for  the  effect  of  a  monument,  combined  with  a  judicious 
calculation  of  the  chances  it  had,  at  one  point  rather  than 
another,  for  catching  the  public  notice  :  this  latter  func- 
tion of  his  complex  office,  regarding  mainly  the  interests 
of  the  defunct  persons  or  his  relations,  and  those  of 
Chantrey,  only  in  a  secondary  way. 

This  aspect  of  Cunningham's  ofRcial  or  ministerial  life, 

VOL.  n.  19 


290  LITERARY   REMINISCENCES. 

reminds  me,  by  the  way,  of  the  worst  aspect  under  which 
his  nationaUty  or  civic  illiberahty  revealed  itself ;  an  illib- 
erality  which  here  took  the  shape  of  bigotry.  A  Scotch- 
man, or  Scotsman,  who  happens  to  hate  England,  is  sure 
a  fortiori,  to  hate  the  English  Church  ;  which,  on  account 
of  its  surplice,  its  organs,  its  cathedrals,  and  its  mitred 
prelates,  he  has  been  taught  to  consider  as  the  sister  of 
the  Babylonian  Rome.  Strange,  indeed,  that  the  Scottish 
Church  should  have  been  the  favorite  church  of  the  poor, 
which  began  so  undeniably  upon  the  incitement  of  the 
rich.  They,  the  rich  and  the  aristocratic,  had  revelled  in 
the  spoils  of  the  monastic  orders,  at  the  dissolution  of  the 
Romish  Church.  Naturally  unwilling  to  resign  their  booty, 
they  promoted  a  church  built  upon  a  principle  of  poverty 
and  humility :  a  church  that  would  not  seek  to  resume 
her  plundered  property.  Under  their  political  intrigues 
it  was  that  all  the  contests  arose,  in  the  seventeenth  cen- 
tury :  first,  by  slight  prelusive  efforts  during  the  long 
reign  of  James  the  Sixth  or  First:  and,  secondly,  by  a 
determinate  civil  war  in  that  of  Charles  the  First  and 
Second.  But  in  this  last  case,  the  '  martyrs,'  as  they  are 
called  —  those  who  fought  atDrumclog,  &c.  — waiving  all 
question  of  their  real  temper  and  religious  merits,  were, 
upon  one  single  ground,  incapable  of  founding  a  national 
church :  they  were  too  few  :  a  small  body,  reckoned  by 
hundreds,  and  not  by  thousands,  never  could  pretend  to 
represent  the  million  of  souls,  or  upwards,  to  which,  even 
in  those  days,  the  Scottish  nation  amounted.  What  I 
maintain,  therefore,  is,  that  no  matter  how  the  Presby- 
terian Church  came  to  have  its  legal  establishment 
revived  and  ratified,  it  cannot  be  pretended,  historically, 
that  this  establishment  owed  much  to  the  struggles  in 
Charles  the  Second's  days,  by  which  (so  far  as  affected  at 
all)  it  was  injured.     This  church,  dated  from  older  times, 


ALLAN    CUNNINGHAM.  291 

went  back  to  those  times  for  sanction  and  for  arguments 
of  its  conformity  to  the  national  taste  ;  seeing  that,  in 
those  elder  times,  it  did  really  count  upon  the  great 
majority  of  the  nation  as  its  affectionate  and  zealous 
supporters:  whereas,  in  the  Cameronian  days,  none  but 
the  very  slenderest  minority,  and  that  minority,  again, 
not  numbering  any  people  of  weight  or  consideration  for 
either  property  or  intelligence  or  talent — no  party  of 
any  known  account — no  party  who  were  even  nominally 
known  to  the  people  of  Scotland  —  had  chosen,  at  any 
crisis  in  the  reign  of  the  second  Charles,  to  join  these 
religious  malcontents.  Much  more  might  be  said  with 
truth;  but  this  may  suffice  —  that  the  insurrectionary 
movements  in  Scotland,  during  that  reign,  were,  rela- 
tively to  the  state  and  to  the  public  peace  of  Scotland, 
pretty  much  the  same  as  the  rising  in  the  cotton  districts 

at  the  instigation  of  Edwards,  in  the  year  ,  to  the 

general  stability  of  the  British  government  at  that  era. 
The  Church  of  Scotland,  therefore,  does  not,  in  fact, 
connect  itself —  for  any  part  of  the  impulse  to  which  it 
owes  its  birth,  however  in  words  or  false  pretences  it  may 
do  so  —  with  any  of  the  movements,  whether  prosperous 
for  the  moment,  or  hopelessly  ruinous,  made  about  1677 
by  the  religious  Whigs  of  Scotland.  In  fact,  like  the 
insurgent  cotton  spinners,  these  turbulent  people  were 
chiefly  from  the  west.  The  'Western'  people  they  were 
then  called,  and  the  '  Westlanders'  —  so  little  were  they 
at  that  time  supposed  to  represent  Scotland.  Such  is  the 
truth  of  history.  Nevertheless,  in  our  insurrectionary 
days,  (insurrectionary,  I  mean,  by  the  character  of  the 
pretensions  advanced  —  not  by  overt  acts,)  it  has  been  a 
delightful  doctrine  to  lay  the  foundations  of  the  Scottish 
Kirk  in  rebellion ;  and  hence  the  false  importance 
assigned    to    the    Cameronian    insurgents.     And    hence 


292  LITERARY  REMINISCENCES. 

partly  it  has  happened,  that  Scottish  nationality  and 
hatred  of  England  has  peculiarly  associated  itself  with 
the  latter  church  history  of  Scotland  ;  for,  as  to  the 
earlier,  and  really  important  era  of  Scottish  Church 
struggles  with  the  civil  power,  the  English  were  looked  to 
as  their  brethren  and  effectual  allies :  and  as  the  Scottish 
Church  necessarily  recalls  to  the  mind  the  anti-pole  of 
the  English  Church,  thus  also  it  has  happened,  that  all 
symbols  or  exponents  of  the  English  Episcopal  Church, 
are,  to  a  low-born  Scottish  patriot,  so  many  counter- 
symbols  of  his  own  national  or  patriotic  prejudices. 

Thus,  or  in  some  such  v/ay,  it  happened  that  Cunning- 
ham never  showed  his  illiberality  so  strongly  as  with 
reference  to  his  negotiations  with  Westminster  Abbey. 
The  '  rapacity '  and  '  avarice '  of  the  Church  of  England 
is  the  open  theme  of  his  attacks  in  his  paper  upon  Lord 
Byron's  funeral;  though,  perhaps,  he  would  find  it  hard 
to  substantiate  his  charge.  Notoriously  the  church, 
whether  as  Dean  and  Chapter,  or  as  Collegiate  Corpora- 
tions, or  as  Episcopal  Sees,  has  ever  been  found  the  most 
lenient  of  all  masters  under  which  to  hold  property ;  and 
it  is  not  very  probable  that  the  church  would  suddenly 
change  its  character  under  a  treaty  with  a  popular  artist. 

However,  if  all  his  foibles  or  infirmities  had  been 
summed  up,  Allan  Cunningham  still  remained  a  man  to 
admire  and  love :  and  by  comparison  with  those  of  his 
own  order,  men  raised,  that  is  to  say,  by  force  of  genius, 
from  the  lowest  rank,  (the  rank,  in  Ms  case,  of  a  work- 
ing mason,  as  I  have  heard  him  declare,)  his  merits 
became  best  appreciable.  The  faults  of  men  self-taught, 
(the  avroSiSaxroi,^  and  men  self-raised,  are  almost  prover- 
bial. The  vanity  and  inflation  of  heart,  the  egotism  and 
arrogance  of  such  men,  were  as  alien  from  the  character 
of  Cunningham  as  of  any  man  I  ever  knew ;  and,  in 


ALLAN   CUNNINGHAM.  293 

Other  respects,  he  was  no  less  advantageously  dis- 
tinguished from  his  order.  Hogg,  for  instance,  was 
absolutely  insufferable  in  conversation.  Egotism  the 
most  pertinacious  might  have  been  excused ;  but  the 
matter  of  this  egotism  was  so  trivial  and  insane,  seldom 
relating  to  any  higher  subject  than  a  conflict  with  a 
'  sawmon,'  that  human  patience  could  not  weather  the 
infliction.  In  Cunningham  there  was  rarely  an  allusion 
to  himself.  Some  people,  it  is  true,  might  be  annoyed 
by  his  too  frequent  allusions  to  his  own  personal  strength 
and  size,  which  he  overrated ;  for  they  were  not  remarka- 
ble ;  or,  if  they  had  been,  what  does  one  man  care  about 
another  man's  qualities  of  person,  this  way  or  that,  unless 
in  so  far  as  he  may  sometimes  be  called  upon  to  describe 
them,  in  order  to  meet  the  curiosity  of  others.  But 
Cunningham's  allusions  of  this  kind,  though  troublesome 
at  times,  seemed  always  jocose,  and  did  not  argue  any 
shade  of  conceit.  In  more  serious  and  natural  subjects 
of  vanity,  he  seemed  to  be  as  little  troubled  with  any 
morbid  self-esteem.  And,  in  all  other  respects,  Cunning- 
ham was  a  whole  world  above  his  own  order  of  self- 
raised  men  —  not  less  in  gravity,  sense,  and  manliness 
of  thought,  than  in  the  dignified  respectability  of  his 
conduct.  He  was  rising  an  inch  in  the  v/orld  every  day 
of  his  life  ;  for  his  whole  day,  from  sunrise  to  bedtime, 
was  dedicated  to  active  duties  cheerfully  performed. 
And  on  this  subject,  one  anecdote  is  memorable,  and 
deserves  a  lasting  record  among  the  memorials  of  literary 
men.  I  have  mentioned  and  described  his  station  and  its 
manifold  duties,  in  relation  to  Sir  Francis  Chantrey. 
Now,  he  has  told  me  himself  repeatedly,  and  certainly, 
from  my  own  observation  and  that  of  others,  I  have  no 
doubt  of  his  literal  veracity,  that,  in  the  course  of  his 
whole  connection   with  that  eminent  sculptor,  he  never 


294  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

borrowed  one  single  hour  from  his  ministerial  labors  on 
account  of  his  principal,  either  to  compose  or  to  correct 
one  of  those  many  excellent,  sometimes  brilliant,  pages, 
by  which  he  has  delighted  so  many  thousands  of  readers, 
and  won  for  himself  a  lasting  name  in  the  fine  literature 
of  modern  England. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

LIBELLOUS  ATTACK  BY  A  LONDON  JOUHNAL. 

This  mention  of  Allan  Cunningham  recalls  to  my 
recollection  an  affair  which  retains  one  part  of  its  interest 
to  this  day,  arising  out  of  the  very  important  casuistical 
question  which  it  involves.  We  Protestant  nations  are  in 
the  habit  of  treating  casuistry  as  a  field  of  speculation, 
false  and  baseless  per  se  ;  nay,  we  regard  it  not  so  much 
in  the  light  of  a  visionary  and  idle  speculation,  as  one 
positively  erroneous  in  its  principles,  and  mischievous  for 
its  practical  results.  This  is  due  in  part  to  the  dispropor- 
tionate importance  which  the  Church  of  Rome  has  always 
attached  to  casuistry  ;  making,  in  fact,  this  supplementary 
section  of  ethics  take  precedency  of  its  elementary  doc- 
trines in  their  Catholic  simplicity  :  as  though  the  plain  and 
broad  highway  of  morality  were  scarcely  ever  the  safe 
road,  but  that  every  case  of  human  conduct  were  to  be 
treated  as  an  exception,  and  never  as  lying  within  the 
universal  rule  :  and  thus  forcing  the  simple,  honest- 
minded  Christian  to  travel  upon  a  tortuous  by-road,  in 
which  he  could  not  advance  a  step  in  security  without 
a  spiritual  guide  at  his  elbow  ;  and,  in  fact,  whenever  the 
hair-splitting  casuistry  is  brought,  with  all  its  elaborate 
machinery,  to  bear  upon  the  simplicities  of  household 
life,  and  upon  the  daily  intercourse  of  the  world,  there  it 


296  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

has  the  effect  (and  is  expressly  cherished  by  the  Romish 
Church  with  a  view  to  the  effect)  of  raising  the  spiritual 
pastor  into  a  sort  of  importance  which  corresponds  to  that 
of  an  attorney.  The  'consuhing  casuist  is,  in  fact,  to  all 
intents  and  purposes,  a  moral  attorney.  For,  as  the  plain- 
est man,  with  the  most  direct  purposes,  is  yet  reasonably 
afraid  to  trust  himself  to  his  own  guidance  in  any  affair 
connected  with  questions  of  law ;  so  also,  when  taught  to 
believe  that  an  upright  intention  and  good  sense  are  equally 
insufficient  in  morals,  as  they  are  in  law,  to  keep  him 
from  stumbling  or  from  missing  his  road,  he  comes  to 
regard  a  conscience-keeper  as  being  no  less  indispensable 
for  his  daily  life  and  conversation  than  his  legal  agent,  or 
his  professional  '  man  of  business,'  for  tho'  safe  manage- 
ment of  his  property,  and  for  his  guidance  amongst  the 
innumerable  niceties  which  beset  the  real  and  inevitable 
intricacies  of  rights  and  duties,  as  they  grow  out  of  human 
enactments  and  a  complex  condition  of  society. 

Fortunately  for  the  happiness  of  human  nature  and  its 
dignity,  those  holier  rights  and  duties  which  grow  out  of 
laws  heavenly  and  divine,  written  by  the  finger  of  God 
upon  the  heart  of  every  rational  creature,  are  beset  by  no 
such  intricacies,  and  require,  therefore,  no  such  vicarious 
agency  for  their  practical  assertion.  The  primal  duties 
of  life,  like  the  primal  charities,  are  placed  high  above  us 
—  legible  to  every  eye,  and  shining  like  the  stars,  with  a 
splendor  that  is  read  in  every  clime,  and  translates  itself 
into  every  language  at  once.  Such  is  the  imagery  of 
Wordsworth.  But  this  is  otherwise  estimated  in  the  policy 
of  papal  .  Rome  ;  and  casuistry  usurps  a  place  in  her 
spiritual  economy,  to  which  our  Protestant  feelings  demur. 
So  far,  however,  the  question  between  us  and  Rome  is  a 
question  of  degrees.  They  push  casuistry  into  a  general 
and    unlimited    application ;   we,  if  at   all,  into    a  very 


LIBELLOUS    ATTACK   BY  A  LONDON   JOURNAL.         297 

naiTow  one.     But  another  difference  there  is  between  us 
even  more  important ;  for  it  regards  no  mere  excess  in 
the  quantity  of  range   allowed  to   casuistry,  but  in  the 
quality  of  its  speculations ;  and  which  it  is  (more  than  any- 
other  cause)  that  has  degraded  the  office  of  casuistical 
learnbg  amongst  us.     Questions  are  raised,  problems  are 
entertained,  by  the   Romish   casuistry,  which   too   often 
offend  against  all  purity  and  manliness  of  thinking.     And 
that  objpction  occurs  forcibly  here,  which  Southey  (either 
in  The  Quarterly  Review  or  in  his  '  Life  of  Wesley ')  has 
urged  aid  expanded  with  regard  to  the  Romish  and  also 
the   Methodist   practice   of   auricular   confession^   viz. — 
that,  as  it  is  practically  managed,  not  leaving  the  person 
engaged  ii  this  act  to  confess  according  to  the  light  of  his 
own  conscience,  but  at  every  moment  interfering,  on  the 
part  of  the  confessor,  to  suggest  leading  questions  (as  law- 
yers call  them,)  and  to  throw  the  light  of  confession  upon 
parts  of  the  experience  which  native  modesty  would  leave 
in  darkness,  ~-  so  managed,  the  practice  of  confession  is 
undoubtedly  fie  most  demoralizing  practice  known  to  any 
Christian  society.  Innocent  young  persons,  whose  thoughts 
would  never  hive  wandered  out  upon  any  impure  images 
or  suggestions,  have  their  ingenuity  and  their  curiosity 
sent  roving  upai  unlawful  quests  ;  they  are  instructed  to 
watch  what   else  would   pass   undetained    in   the    mind, 
and  would  pass  unblamably,  on  the  Miltonic  principle : 
('  Evil  into  the  rftind  of  God  or  man  may  come  unblam- 
ed,'  &c.)     Nay,  which    is  worst   of  all,  unconscious    or 
semi-conscious  thoughts  and  feelings  or  natural  impulses, 
rising,  like  a  breath  of  wind  under  some  motion  of  nature, 
and  again  dying  avay,  because  not  made  the  subject  of 
artificial  review  and  interpretation,  are  now  brought  pow- 
erfully under  the   focal   light  of  the   consciousness  ;  and 
whatsoever  is  once  made  the  subject  of  consciousness, 


298  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

can  never  again  have  the  privilege  of  gay,  careless 
thoughtlessness  —  the  privilege  by  which  the  mind,  Ike 
the  lamps  of  a  mail-coach,  moving  rapidly  through  the 
midnight  woods,  illuminate,  for  one  instant,  the  foliage  or 
sleeping  umbrage  of  the  thickets  ;  and,  in  the  nest  in- 
stant, have  quitted  them,  to  carry  their  radiance  forward 
upon  endless  successions  of  objects.  This  happy  privi- 
lege is  forfeited  for  ever,  when  the  pointed  signi4cancy 
of  the  confessor's  questions,  and  the  direct  knowledge 
which  he  plants  in  the  mind,  have  awakened  s.  guilty 
familiarity  with  every  form  of  impurity  and  unlallowed 
sensuality. 

Here,  then,  are  objections  sound  and  deep,  to  casuistry, 
as  managed  in  the  Romish  Church.  Every  possible  ob- 
jection ever  made  to  auricular  confession  afplies  with 
equal  strength  to  casuistry  ;  and  some  objections,  besides 
these,  are  peculiar  to  itself.  And  yet,  after  all,  these  arc 
but  objections  to  casuistry  as  treated  by  a  particular 
Church.  Casuistry  in  itself —  casuistry  as  a  possible,  as  a 
most  useful,  and  a  most  interesting  speculation  —  remains 
unaffected  by  any  one  of  these  objections ;  for  none  ap- 
plies to  the  essence  of  the  case,  but  only  to  its  accidents,  or 
separable  adjuncts.  Neither  is  this  any  cirious  or  subtle 
observation  of  little  practical  value.  The  fact  is  as  far 
otherwise  as  can  be  imagined  —  the  defeat  to  which  I  am 
here  pointing,  is  one  of  the  most  clamorous  importance. 
Of  what  value,  let  me  ask,  is  Paley's  Moral  Philosophy  ? 
What  is  its  imaciined  use  ?  Is  it  that  in  substance  it  re- 
veals  any  new  duties,  or  banishes  as  false  any  old  ones  ? 
No;  but  because  the  known  and  admitted  duties  —  duties 
recognised  in  every  system  of  ethics — are  here  placed 
(successfully  or  not)  upon  new  foundations,  or  brought 
into  relation  with  new  principles  not  previously  perceived 
to  be  in  any  relation  whatever.     This,  in  fact,  is  the  very 


LIBELLOUS   ATTACK    BY    A   LONDON   JOURNAL. 

meaning  of  a  theory*  or  contemplation,  [OtuiQia,']  when 
A,  B,  C,  old  and  undisputed  facts,  have  their  relations  to 
each  other  developed.  It  is  not,  therefore,  fer  any  prac- 
tical benefit  in  action,  so  much  as  for  the  satisfaction  of 
the  understq^iding,  when  reflecting  on  a  man's  own  actions, 
the  wish  to  see  what  his  conscience  or  his  heart  prompts 
reconciled  to  general  laws  of  thinking  —  this  is  the  par- 
ticular service  performed  by  Paley's  Moral  Philosophy.  It 
does  not  so  much  profess  to  tell  tohat  you  are  to  do,  as  the 
icJiy  and  the  wherefore;  and,  in  particular,  to  show  how 
one  rule  of  action  may  be  reconciled  to  some  other  rule 
of  equal  authority,  but  which,  apparently,  is  in  hostility 
to  the  first.  Such,  then,  is  the  utmost  and  highest  aim  of 
the  Paleyian  or  the  Ciceronian  ethics,  as  they  exist. 
Meantime,  the  grievous  defect  to  which  I  have  adverted 
above  —  a  defect  equally  found  in  all  systems  of  morality, 
from  the  Nichomachean  ethics  of  Aristotle  downwards  — 
is  the  want  of  a  casuistry,  by  way  of  supplement  to  the 
main  system,  and,  governed  by  the  spirit  of  the  very  same 

*  No  terms  of  art  are  used  so  arbitrarilj',  and  with  such  perfect  levitj'^, 
as  the  terms  hypothesis,  ihcorij,  system.  Most  writers  use  one  or  other 
with  the  same  indifference  that  they  use  in  constructing  the  title  of  a 
novel,  or,  suppose,  of  a  pamphlet,  where  the  phrase  thoughts,  or  stric- 
tures, or  consideriitions,wpon  so  and  so,  are  used  ad  libitum.  Meantime, 
the  distinctions  are  essential.  That  is  properly  an  hypothesis  where  the 
question  is  about  a  cause  :  certain  phenomena  are  Icnown  and  given  :  the 
object  is  to  place  below  these  phenomena  a  basis  [vjioSeatc]  capable  of 
supporting  them,  and  accounting  for  them.  Thus,  if  you  were  to  assign 
a  cause  sufficient  to  account  for  the  aurora  borealis,  that  would  he  an 
hypothesis.  But  a  theory,  on  the  other  hand,  takes  a  multitude  of  facts 
all  disjointed,  or,  at  most,  suspected,  of  some  interdependency  :  these  it 
takes  and  places  under  strict  laws  of  relation  to  each  other.  But  here 
there  is  no  question  of  a  cause.  Finally,  a  system  is  the  synthesis  of  a 
theory  and  an  hypothesis  :  it  states  the  relations  as  amongst  an  undi- 
gested mass,  rudis  indigestaque  moles,  of  known  phenomena  ;  and  it 
assigns  a  basis  for  the  whole,  as  in  an  hypothesis.  These  distinctions 
would  become  vivid  and  convincing  by  the  help  of  proper  illustrations. 


300  LITERARY     REMINISCENCES. 

laws,  which  the  writer  has  previously  employed  in  the 
main  body  of  his  work.  And  the  immense  superiority  of 
this  supplementary  section,  to  the  main  body  of  the  sys- 
tems, would  appear  in  this,  that  the  latter,  I  have  just  been 
saying,  aspires  only  to  guide  the  reflecting  judgment  in 
harmonizing  the  different  parts  of  his  own  conduct,  so  as 
to  bring  them  under  the  same  law ;  whereas  the  casuisti- 
cal section,  in  the  supplement,  would  seriously  undertake 
to  guide  the  conduct,  in  many  doubtful  cases,  of  action  — 
cases  which  are  so  regarded  by  all  thinking  persons. 
Take,  for  example,  the  case  which  so  often  arises  between 
master  and  servant,  and  in  so  many  varieties  of  form  —  a 
case  which  requires  you  to  decide  between  some  violation 
of  your  conscience,  on  the  one  hand,  as  to  veracity,  by 
saying  something  that  is  not  strictly  true,  as  well  as  by 
evading  (and  that  is  often  done)  all  answer  to  inquiries 
which  you  are  unable  to  meet  satisfactorily  —  a  violation 
of  your  conscience  to  this  extent,  and  in  this  way ;  or,  on 
the  other  hand,  a  still  more  painful  violation  of  your 
conscience  in  consigning  deliberately  some  young  woman 
—  faulty,  no  doubt,  and  erring,  but  yet  likely  to  derive  a 
lesson  from  her  own  errors,  and  the  risk  to  which  they 
have  exposed  her  —  consigning  her,  I  say,  to  ruin,  by 
refusing  her  a  character,  and  thus  shutting  the  door  upon 
all  the  paths  by  which  she  might  retrace  her  steps.  This 
I  state  as  one  amongst  the  many  cases  of  conscience 
daily  occurring  in  the  common  business  of  the  world.  It 
would  surprise  any  reader  to  find  how  many  they  are ;  in 
fact,  a  very  large  volume  might  be  easily  collected  of 
such  cases  as  are  of  ordinary  occurrence.  Casuistry, 
the  very  word  casuistry  expresses  the  science  which 
deals  with  such  cases  :  for  as  a  case,  in  the  declension  of 
a  noun,  means  a  falling  away,  or  a  deflection  from  the 
upright  nominative,  {rectus,)  so  a  case  in  ethics  implies 


LIBELLOUS   ATTACK   BY   A   LONDON    JOURNAL.         301 

some  falling  off,  or  deflection  from  the  high  road  of 
catholic  morality.  Now,  of  all  such  cases,  one,  perhaps 
the  most  difficult  to  manage,  the  most  intractable,  whether 
for  consistency  of  thinking  as  to  the  theory  of  morals,  or 
for  consistency  of  action  as  to  the  practice  of  morals,  is 
the  case  of  duelling. 

As  an  introduction,  I  will  state  my  story  —  the  case  for 
the  casuist ;  and  then  say  one  word  on  the  reason  of  the 
case. 

First,  let  me  report  the  case  of  a  friend  —  a  distin- 
guished lawyer  at  the  English  bar.  I  had  the  circum- 
stances from  himself,  which  lie  in  a  very  small  compass; 
and,  as  my  friend  is  known,  to  a  proverb  almost,  for  his 
literal  accuracy  in  all  statements  of  fact,  there  need  be  no 
fear  of  any  mistake  as  to  the  main  points  of  the  case. 
He  was  one  day  engaged  in  pleading  before  the  Commis- 
sioners of  Bankruptcy ;  a  court  then  newly  appointed, 
and  differently  constituted,  I  believe,  in  some  respects, 
from  its  present  form.  That  particular  commissioner,  as 
it  happened,  who  presided  at  the  moment  when  the  case 
occurred,  had  been  recently  appointed,  and  did  not  know 
the  faces  of  those  who  chiefly  practised  in  the  court.  All 
things,  indeed,  concurred  to  favor  his  mistake  :  for  the 
case  itself  came  on  in  a  shape  or  in  a  stage  which  was 
liable  to  misinterpretation,  from  the  partial  view  which  it 
allowed  of  the  facts,  under  the  hurry  of  the  procedure ; 
and  my  friend,  also,  unluckily,  had  neglected  to  assume 
his  barrister's  costume,  so  that  he  passed,  in  the  commis- 
sioner's appreciation,  as  an  attorney.  '  What  if  he  had 
been  an  attorney  }  '  it  may  be  said  :  '  was  he,  therefore, 
less  entitled  to  courtesy  or  justice  ? '  Certainly  not ;  nor 
is  it  my  business  to  apologize  for  the  commissioner.  But 
it  may  easily  be  imagined,  and  (making  allowances  for 
the  confusion  of  hurry  and  imperfect  knowledge  of  the 


302  LITERARY   REMINISCENCES. 

case)  it  does  ofFer  something  in  palliation  of  the  judge's 
rashness,  that,  amongst  a  large  heap  of  '  Old  Bailey ' 
attorneys  who  notoriously  attended  this  court  for  the 
express  purpose  of  whitewashing  their  clients,  and  who 
were  in  bad  odor  as  tricksters,  he  could  hardly  have  been 
expected  to  make  a  special  exception  in  favor  of  one 
particular  man,  who  had  not  protected  himself  by  the 
insignia  of  his  order.  His  main  error,  however,  lay  in 
misapprehending  the  case :  this  misapprehension  lent 
strength  to  the  assumption  that  my  friend  was  an  '  Old 
Bailey'  (?".  e.,  a  sharking)  attorney ;  whilst,  on  the  other 
hand,  that  assumption  lent  strength  to  his  misapprehension 
of  the  case.  Angry  interruptions  began  :  these,  being 
retorted  or  resented  with  just  indignation,  produced  an 
irritation  and  ill-temper,  which,  of  themselves,  were 
quite  sufficient  to  raise  a  cloud  of  perplexity  over  any 
law  process,  and  to  obscure  it  for  any  understanding. 
The  commissioner  grew  warmer  and  warmer  ;  and,  at 
length,  he  had  the  presumption  to  say,  —  'Sir,  you  are  a 
disgrace  to  your  profession.'  When  such  sugar-plums, 
as  Captain  M'Turk  the  peacemaker  observes,  were  flying 
between  them,  there  could  be  no  room  for  further  parley. 
That  same  night  the  commissioner  was  waited  on  by  a 
friend  of  the  barrister's,  who  cleared  up  his  ov/n  miscon- 
Qeptions  to  the  disconcerted  judge ;  placed  him,  even  to 
his  own  judgment,  thoroughly  in  the  wrong  ;  and  then 
most  courteously  troubled  him  for  a  reference  to  some 
gentleman,  who  would  arrange  the  terms  of  a  meeting 
for  tlie  next  day.  The  commissioner  was  too  just  and 
grave  a  man  to  be  satisfied  with  himself,  on  a  cool  review 
of  his  own  conduct.  Here  was  a  quarrel  ripened  into  a 
mortal  feud,  likely  enough  to  terminate  in  wounds,  or, 
possibly,  in  death  to  one  of  the  parties,  which,  on  his 
side,  carried  with  it  no  palliations  from  any  provocation 


LIBELLOUS    ATTACK    BY    A    LONDON    JOUKNAL.         303 

received,  or  from  wrong  and  insult,  in  any  form,  sustained : 
these,  in  an  aggravated  shape,  could  he  pleaded  by  my 
friend,  but  with  no  opening  for  retaliatory  pleas  on  the 
part  of  the  magistrate.  That  name,  again,  of  magistrate, 
increased  his  offence  and  pointed  its  moral :  he,  a  con- 
servator of  the  laws  —  he,  a  dispenser  of  equity,  sitting 
even  at  the  very  moment  on  the  judgment  seat  —  he  to 
have  commenced  a  brawl,  nay,  to  have  fastened  a  quarrel 
upon  a  man  even  then  of  some  consideration  and  of  high 
promise;  a  quarrel  which  finally  tended  to  this  result  — 
shoot  or  be  shot.  That  commissioner's  situation  and  state 
of  mind,  for  the  succeeding  night,  were  certainly  not  en- 
viable :  like  Southey's  erring  painter,  who  had  yielded  to 
the  temptation  of  the  subtle  fiend, 

'  With  repentance  his  only  companion  he  lay  ; 
And  a  dismal  companion  is  she.' 

Meantime,  my  friend  —  what  was  Ids  condition ;  and 
how  did  he  pass  the  interval }  I  have  heard  him  feelingly 
describe  the  misery,'  the  blank  anguish  of  this  memorable 
night.  Sometimes  it  happens  that  a  man's  conscience  is 
wounded  :  but  this  very  wound  is  the  means,  perhaps,  by 
which  his  feelings  are  spared  for  the  present :  sometimes 
his  feelings  are  lacerated  ;  but  this  very  laceration  makes 
the  ransom  for  his  conscience.  Here,  on  the  contrary,  his 
feelings  and  his  happiness  were  dimmed  by  the  very  same 
cause  which  ofiered  pain  and  outrage  to  his  conscience. 
He  was,  upon  principle,  a  hater  of  duelling.  Under  any 
circumstances,  he  would  have  condemned  the  man  who 
could,  for  a  light  cause,  or  almost  for  the  weightiest,  have 
so  much  as  accepted  a  challenge.  Yet,  here  he  was  posi- 
tively offering  a  challenge  ;  and  to  whom }  To  a  man 
whom  he  scarcely  knew  by  sight ;  whom  he  had  never 
spoken  to  until  this  unfortunate  afternoon  ;  and  towards 


304  LITERAKY     REMINISCENCES. 

whom  (now  that  the  momentary  excitement  of  anger  had 
passed  away)  he  felt  no  atom  of  passion  or  resentment 
whatsoever.  As  a  free  '  unhoused '  young  man,  therefore, 
had  he  been  such,  without  ties  or  obhgations  in  life,  he 
would  have  felt  the  profoundest  compunction  at  the  antici- 
pation of  any  serious  injury  inflicted  upon  another  man's 
hopes  or  happiness,  or  upon  his  own.  But  what  was  his 
real  situation  ?  He  was  a  married  man,  married  to  the 
woman  of  his  choice  within  a  very  few  years :  he  was 
also  a  father,  having  one  most  promising  son,  somewhere 
about  three  years  old.  His  young  wife  and  his  son  com- 
posed his  family ;  and  both  were  dependent,  in  the  most 
absolute  sense,  for  all  they  possessed  or  they  expected  — 
for  all  they  had  or  ever  could  have  —  upon  his  own  exer- 
tions. Abandoned  by  him,  losing  him,  they  forfeited,  in 
one  hour,  every  chance  of  comfort,  respectability,  or  se- 
curity from  scorn  and  humiliation.  The  mother,  a  woman 
of  strong  understanding  and  most  excellent  judgment — 
good  and  upright  herself — liable,  therefore,  to  no  habit 
of  suspicion,  and  constitutionally  cheerful,  went  to  bed 
with  her  young  son,  thinking  no  evil.  Midnight  came, 
one,  two  o'clock;  mother  and  child  had  long  been  asleep  ; 
nor  did  either  of  them  dream  of  that  danger  which  even 
now  was  yawning  under  their  feet.  The  barrister  had 
spent  the  hours  from  ten  to  two  in  drawing  up  his  will, 
and  in  writing  such  letters  as  might  have  the  best  chance, 
in  case  of  fatal  issue  to  himself,  for  obtaining  some  aid  to 
the  desolate  condition  of  those  two  beings  whom  he  would 
leave  behind  unprotected  and  without  provision.  Often- 
times he  stole  into  the  bedroom,  and  gazed  with  anguish 
upon  the  innocent  objects  of  his  love  ;  and,  as  his  con- 
science now  told  him,  of  his  bitterest  perfidy.  '  Will  you 
then  leave  us  ?  Are  you  really  going  to  betray  us  ? 
Will   you   deliberately   consign   us  to  life-long  poverty. 


LIBELLOUS    ATTACK    BY    A    LONDON    JOURNAL.  305 

and  scorn,  and  grief?  '  These  aficcting  apostrophes  he 
seemed,  in  the  silence  of  the  night,  to  hear  almost  with 
bodily  ears.  Silent  reproaches  seemed  written  upon  their 
sleeping  features ;  and  once,  when  his  wife  suddenly- 
awakened  under  the  glare  of  the  lamp  which  he  carried, 
he  felt  the  strongest  impulse  to  fly  from  the  room  ;  but  he 
faltered,  and  stood  rooted  to  the  spot.  She  looked  at  him 
smilingly,  and  asked  why  he  was  so  long  in  coming  to 
bed.  He  pleaded  an  excuse,  which  she  easily  admitted, 
of  some  law  case  to  study  against  the  morning,  or  some 
law  paper  to  draw.  She  was  satisfied  ;  and  fell  asleep 
again.  He,  however,  fearing,  above  all  things,  that  he 
might  miss  the  time  for  his  appointment,  resolutely  abided 
by  his  plan  of  not  going  to  bed  ;  for  the  meeting  was  to 
take  place  at  Chalk  Farm,  and  by  half-past  five  in  the 
morning  :  that  is,  about  one  hour  after  sunrise.  One  hour 
and  a  half  before  this  time,  in  the  gray  dawn,  just  when 
the  silence  of  Nature  and  of  mighty  London  was  most 
absolute,  he  crept  stealthily,  and  like  a  guilty  thing,  to  the 
bedside  of  his  sleeping  wife  and  child  ;  took,  what  he  be- 
lieved might  be  his  final  look  of  them;  kissed  them  softly; 
and,  according  to  his  own  quotation  from  Coleridge's  '  Ee- 


morse  ' 


> 

'  In  agony  that  could  not  be  remembered,' 

and  a  conflict  with  himself  that  defied  all  rehearsal,  he 
quitted  his  peaceful  cottage  at  Chelsea  in  order  to  seek  for 
the  friend  who  had  undertaken  to  act  as  his  second.  He 
had  good  reason,  from  what  he  had  heard  on  the  night 
before,  to  believe  his  antagonist  an  excellent  shot ;  and, 
having  no  sort  of  expectation  that  any  interruption  could 
offer  to  the  regular  progress  of  the  duel,  he,  as  the  chal- 
lenger, would  have  to  stand  the  first  fire  ;  at  any  rate,  con- 
ceiving this  to  be  the  fair  privilege  of  the  party  challenged, 
he  did  not  mean  to  avail  himself  of  any  proposal  for  draw- 
VOL.  II.  20 


306  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

ing  lots  upon  the  occasion,  even  if  such  a  proposal  should 
happen  to  be  made.  Thus  far  the  affair  had  travelled 
through  the  regular  stages  of  expectation  and  suspense  ; 
but  the  interest  of  the  case  as  a  story  was  marred  and 
brought  to  an  abrupt  conclusion  by  the  conduct  of  the 
commissioner.  He  was  a  man  of  known  courage,  but  he 
also  was  a  man  of  conscientious  scruples ;  and,  amongst 
other  instances  of  courage,  had  the  courage  to  own  him- 
self in  the  wrong.  He  felt  that  his  conduct  hitherto  had 
not  been  wise  or  temperate,  and  that  he  would  be  sadly 
aggravating  his  original  error,  by  persisting  in  aiming  at  a 
man's  life,  upon  which  life  hung  also  the  happiness  of 
others,  merely  because  he  had  offered  to  that  man  a  most 
unwarranted  insult.  Feeling  this,  he  thought  fit,  at  first 
coming  upon  the  ground,  to  declare  that,  having  learned, 
since  the  scene  in  court,  the  real  character  of  his  antago- 
nist, and  the  extent  of  his  own  mistake,  he  was  resolved 
to  brave  all  appearances  and  ill-natured  judgments,  by 
making  an  ample  apology ;  which,  accordingly,  he  did  ; 
and  so  the  affair  terminated.  I  have  thoueht  it  risht, 
however,  to  report  the  circumstances,  both  because  they 
were  really  true  in  every  particular,  but,  much  more,  be- 
cause they  place  in  strong  relief  one  feature  which  is 
often  found  in  these  cases,  and  which  is  allowed  far  too 
little  weight  in  distributing  the  blame  between  the 
parties ;  to  this  I  wish  to  solicit  the  reader's  attention. 
During  the  hours  of  this  never-to-be-forgotten  nicht  of 
wretchedness  and  anxiety,  my  friend's  reflection  was  nat- 
urally forced  upon  the  causes  which  had  produced  it.  In 
the  world's  judgment,  he  was  aware  that  he  himself,  as 
the  one  charged  with  the  most  weighty  responsibility, 
(those  who  depend  upon  him  being  the  most  entirely  help- 
less,) would  have  to  sustain  by  much  the  heaviest  censure  : 
and  yet  what  was  the  real  proportion  of  blame  between 


LIBELLOUS    ATTACK    BY    A    LONDON    JOURNAL.         307 

the  parties  ?  He,  when  provoked  and  publicly  insulted, 
had  retorted  angrily  :  that  was  almost  irresistible  under 
the  constitution  of  human  feelings ;  the  meekest  of  men 
could  scarcely  do  less.  But  surely  the  true  onus  of  wrong 
and  moral  responsibility  for  all  which  might  follow,  rested 
upon  that  party  who,  giving  way  to  mixed  impulses  of 
rash  judgment,  and  of  morose  temper,  had  allowed  him- 
self to  make  a  most  unprovoked  assault  upon  the  charac- 
ter of  one  whom  he  did  not  know ;  well  aware  that  such 
words,  uttered  publicly  by  a  person  in  authority,  must,  by 
some  course  or  other,  be  washed  out  and  cancelled  ;  or, 
if  not,  that  the  party  submitting  to  such  defamatory  in- 
sults, would  at  once  exile  himself  from  the  society  and 
countenance  of  his  professional  brethren.  Now,  then,  in 
all  justice,  it  should  be  so  ordered,  that  the  weight  of  pub- 
lic indignation  might  descend  upon  him,  whoever  he  might 
be,  (and,  of  course,  the  more  heavily,  according  to  the 
authority  of  his  station,  and  his  power  of  inflicting  wrong,) 
who  should  thus  wantonly  abuse  his  means  of  influence, 
to  the  dishonor  or  injury  of  an  unoflending  party.  We 
clothe  a  public  officer  with  power,  we  arm  him  with  influ- 
ential authority  over  public  opinion  ;  not  that  he  may  ap- 
ply these  authentic  sanctions  to  the  backing  of  his  own 
malice,  and  giving  weight  to  liis  private  caprices  :  and, 
wherever  such  abuse  takes  place,  then  it  should  be  so 
contrived  that  some  reaction  in  behalf  of  the  injured  per- 
son might  receive  a  sanction  equally  public.  And,  upon 
this  point,  1  shall  say  a  word  or  two  more,  after  first  stat- 
ing my  own  case ;  a  case  where  the  outrage  was  far  more 
insufferable,  more  deliberate,  and  more  malicious;  but, 
on  the  other  hand,  in  this  respect  less  effectual  for 
injury,  that  it  carried  with  it  no  sanction  from  any  official 
station  or  repute  in  the  unknown  parlies  who  offered  the 
wrong. 


•308  LITERAKY    REMINISCENCES. 

The  circumstances  were  these  :  — In  1824,  I  had  come 
up  to  London  upon  an  errand,  in  itself  sufficiently  vexa- 
tious —  of  fighting  against  pecuniary  embarrassments,  by 
literary  labors;  but,  as  had  always  happened  hitherto, 
with  very  imperfect  success,  from  the  miserable  thwart- 
ings  I  incurred  through  the  deranged  state  of  the  liver. 
My  zeal  was  great,  and  my  application  was  unintermit- 
ting ;  but  spirits  radically  vitiated,  chiefly  through  the 
direct  mechanical  depression  caused  by  one  important 
organ  deranged  ;  and,  secondly,  by  a  reflex  effect  of  de- 
pression through  my  own  thoughts,  in  estimating  my 
prospects ;  together  with  the  aggravation  of  my  case,  by 
the  inevitable  exile  from  my  own  mountain  home,  —  all 
this  reduced  the  value  of  my  exertions  in  a  deplorable 
way.  It  was  rare  indeed  that  I  could  satisfy  my  own 
judgment,  even  tolerably,  with  the  quality  of  any  literary 
article  I  produced ;  and  my  power  to  make  sustained 
exertions,  drooped,  in  a  way  I  could  not  control,  every 
other  hour  of  the  day  :  insomuch,  that  what  with  parts  to  be 
cancelled,  and  what  with  whole  days  of  torpor  and  pure 
defect  of  power  to  produce  any  thing  at  all,  very  often  it 
turned  out  that  all  my  labors  were  barely  sufficient  (some- 
times not  sufficient)  to  meet  the  current  expenses  of  my 
residence  in  London.  Three  months'  literary  toil  termi- 
nated, at  times  in  a  result  =  0  ;  the  whole  plus  being  just 
equal  to  the  minus,  created  by  two  separate  establish- 
ments, and  one  of  them  in  the  most  extensive  city  of  tliQ. 
world.  Gloomy,  indeed,  was  my  state  of  mind  at  that 
period  :  for,  though  I  made  prodigious  efforts  to  recover 
my  health,  (sensible  that  all  other  efforts  depended  for 
their  result  upon  this  elementary  effort,  which  was  the 
conditio  sine  qua  nan  for  the  rest,)  yet  all  availed  me  not ; 
and  a  curse  seemed  to  settle  upon  whatever  I  then  under- 
took.    Such  was  my  frame  of  mind  on  reaching  London : 


LIBELLOUS    ATTACK    BY    A    LONDON    JOURNAL.         309 

in  fact  it  never  varied.  One  canopy  of  murky  clouds  (a 
copy  of  tliat  dun  atmosphere  which  settles  so  often  upon 
London)  brooded  for  ever  upon  my  spirits,  which  were  in 
one  uniformly  low  key  of  cheerless  despondency  ;  and,  on 
this  particular  morning,  my  depression  had  been  deeper 
than  usual,  from  the  effects  of  a  long  continuous  journey 
of  three  hundred  miles,  and  of  exhaustion  from  want  of 
sleep.  I  had  reached  London,  about  six  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  by  one  of  the  northern  mails ;  and,  resigning 
myself  as  usual  in  such  cases,  to  the  chance  destination  of 
the  coach,  after  delivering  our  bags  in  Lombard  street,  I 
was  driven  down  to  a  great  city  hotel.  Here  there  were 
hot  baths ;  and,  somewhat  restored  by  this  luxurious  re- 
freshment, about  eisrht  o'clock  I  was  seated  at  a  breakfast 
table ;  upon  which,  in  a  few  minutes,  as  an  appendage 
not  less  essential  than  the  tea-service,  one  of  the  waiters 
laid  that  morning's  Tunes,  just  reeking  from  the  press. 
The  Times,  by  the  way,  is  notoriously  the  leading  journal 
of  Europe  anywhere;  but,  in  London,  and  more  pe- 
culiarly in  the  city  quarter  of  London,  it  enjoys  a  pre- 
eminence scarcely  understood  elsewhere.  Here  it  is  not 
a  morning  paper,  but  the  morning  paper  :  no  other  is 
known,  no  other  is  cited  as  authority  in  matters  of  fact. 
Strolling  with  my  eye  indolently  over  the  vast  Babylonian 
confusion  of  the  enormous  columns,  naturally  as  one  of 
the  corps  Uiteraire,  I  found  my  attention  drawn  to  those 
regions  of  the  paper  which  announced  forthcoming  publi- 
cations. Amongst  them  was  a  notice  of  a  satirical  jour- 
nal, very  low  priced,  and  already  advanced  to  its  third  or 
fourth  number.  My  heart  palpitated  a  little  on  seeing 
myself  announced  as  the  principal  theme  for  the  malice 
of  the  current  number.  The  reader  must  not  suppose 
that  1  was  left  in  any  doubt  as  to  the  quality  of  the  notice 
with  which  I  had  been  honored  ;  and  that,  by  possibility, 


310  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

I  was  solacing  my  vanity  with  some  anticipation  of  honeyed 
compliments.  That,  I  can  assure  him,  was  made  altogeth- 
er impossible  by  the  kind  of  language  which  flourished  in 
the  very  foreground  of  the  programme,  and  even  of  the 
running  title.  The  exposure  and  dej)luming  (to  borrow  a 
good  word  from  the  fine  old  rhetorician.  Fuller,)  of  the 
leading  'humbugs'  of  the  age  —  that  was  announced  as 
the  regular  business  of  the  journal  :  and  the  only  question 
which  remained  to  be  settled  was,  the  more  or  less  of  the 
degree  ;  and  also  one  other  question,  even  more  interest- 
ing still,  viz.  —  whether  personal  abuse  were  intermingled 
with  literary.  Happiness,  as  I  have  experienced  in  other 
periods  of  my  life,  deep  domestic  happiness,  makes  a  man 
comparatively  careless  of  ridicule,  of  sarcasm,  or  of  abuse. 
But  calamity  —  the  degradation,  in  the  world's  eye,  of 
every  man  who  is  fighting  with  pecuniary  difficulties  — 
exasperates  beyond  all  that  can  be  imagined,  a  man's 
sensibility  to  insult.  He  is  even  apprehensive  of  insult  — 
tremulously,  fantastically  apprehensive,  where  none  is 
intended  ;  and  like  Wordsworth's  shepherd,  with  his  very 
understanding  consciously  abused  and  depraved  by  his 
misfortunes,  is  ready  to  say,  at  all  hours  — 

'  And  every  man  I  met  or  faced, 
Methought  he  knew  some  ill  of  me.' 

Some  notice,  perhaps,  the  newspaper  had  taken  of  this 
new  satirical  journal,  or  some  extracts  might  have  been 
made  from  it ;  at  all  events,  I  had  ascertained  its  character 
so  well  that,  in  this  respect,  I  had  nothing  to  learn.  It 
now  remained  to  get  the  number  which  professed  to  be 
seasoned  with  my  particular  case  ;  and  it  may  be  sup- 
posed that  I  did  not  loiter  over  my  breakfast  after  this 
discovery.  Something  which  I  saw  or  suspected  amongst 
the  significant   hints   of  a   paragraph   or   advertisement. 


LIBELLOUS  ATTACK  BY  A  LONDON  JOURNAL.  311 

made  me  fear  that  there  might  possibly  be  insinuations  or 
downright  assertion  in  the  libel  requiring  instant  public 
notice  ;  and,  therefore,  on  a  motive  of  prudence,  had  I 
even  otherwise  felt  that  indifference  for  slander  which  now 
I  do  feel,  but  which,  in  those  years,  morbid  irritability  of 
temperament  forbade  me  to  affect,  I  should  still  have 
thouo;ht  it  ri^ht  to  look  after  the  work :  which  now  I  did  : 
and,  by  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning  —  an  hour  at  which 
few  people  had  seen  me  for  years  —  I  was  on  my  road  to 
Smitlifield.  Smithfield  ?  Yes  ;  even  so.  All  known  and 
respectable  publishers  having  declined  any  connection 
with  the  work,  the  writers  had  facetiously  resorted  to  this 
aceldama,  or  slaughtering  quarter  of  London  —  to  these 
vast  shambles,  as  typical,  I  suppose,  of  their  own  slaugh- 
tering spirit.  On  my  road  to  Smithfield,  I  could  not  but 
pause  for  one  moment  to  reflect  on  the  pure  defecated 
malice  which  must  have  prompted  an  attack  upon  myself. 
Eetaliation  or  retort  it  could  not  pretend  to  be.  To  most 
literary  men,  scattering  their  written  reviews,  or  their 
opinions,  by  word  or  mouth,  to  the  right  and  the  left  with 
all  possible  carelessness,  it  never  can  be  matter  of  sur- 
prise, or  altogether  of  complaint,  (unless  as  a  question  of 
degrees,)  that  angry  notices,  or  malicious  notices,  should 
be  taken  of  themselves.  Few,  indeed,  of  literary  men 
can  pretend  to  any  absolute  innocence  from  offence,  and 
from  such  even  as  may  have  seemed  deliberate.  But  I, 
for  my  part,  could.  Knowing  the  rapidity  with  which  all 
remarks  of  literary  men  upon  literary  men  are  apt  to 
circulate,  I  had  studiously  and  resolutely  forborne  to  say 
anything,  whether  of  a  writer  or  a  book,  unless  where  it 
happened  that  I  could  say  something  that  would  be  felt  as 
complimentary.  And  as  to  written  reviews,  so  much  did 
I  dislike  the  assumption  of  judicial  functions  and  authority 
over  the  works  of  my  own  brother  authors  and  contem- 


312  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

poraries,  that  I  have,  in  my  whole  life,  written  only  two  ; 
at  that  time  only  one  ;  and  that  one,  though  a  review  of 
an  English  novel,  was  substantially  a  review  of  a  German 
book,  taking  little  notice,  or  none,  of  the  English  trans- 
lator; for,  although  he,  a  good  German  scholar  now,  was 
a  very  imperfect  one  at  that  time,  and  was,  therefore, 
every  way  open  to  criticism,  I  had  evaded  this  invidious 
office  applied  to  a  novice  in  literature,  and  (after  pointing 
out  one  or  two  slight  blemishes  of  trivial  importance)  all 
that  I  said  of  a  general  nature  was  a  compliment  to  him 
upon  the  felicity  of  his  verses.  Upon  the  German  author 
I  was,  indeed,  severe,  but  hardly  as  much  as  he  deserved. 
The  other  review  was  a  tissue  of  merriment  and  fun ;  and 
though,  it  is  true,  I  did  hear  that  the  fair  authoress  was 
offended  at  one  jest,  I  may  safely  leave  it  for  any  reader 
to  judge  between  us.  She,  or  her  brother,  amongst  other 
Latin  epigrams,  had  one  addressed  to  a  young  lady  2ipon 
the  loss  of  her  keys.  This,  the  substance  of  the  lines 
showed  to  have  been  the  intention ;  but  (by  a  very  venial 
error  in  one  who  was  writing  Latin  from  early  remem- 
brance of  it,  and  not  in  the  character  of  a  professing 
scholar)  the  title  was  written  De  clavis  instead  of  De 
clavibus  amissis ;  upon  which  I  observed  that  the  writer 
had  selected  a  singular  topic  for  condolence  with  a  young 
lady,  —  viz.,  '  on  the  loss  of  her  cudgels  ; '  {clavis,  as  an 
ablative,  coming  clearly  from  clava.)  This  (but  I  can 
hardly  believe  it)  was  said  to  have  offended  Miss  H. ;  and, 
at  all  events,  this  was  the  extent  of  my  personalities. 
Many  kind  things  I  had  said;  much  honor,  much  admira- 
tion, I  had  professed  at  that  period  of  my  life  in  occa- 
sional papers  or  private  letters,  towards  many  of  my 
contemporaries,  but  never  anything  censorious  or  harsh ; 
and  simply  on  a  principle  of  courteous  forbearance  which 
I  have  felt  to  be  due  towards  those  who  are  brothers  of 


LIBELLOUS    ATTACK    BY   A    LONDON    JOURNAL.  313 

the  same  liberal  profession  witli  one's  self.  I  could  not 
feel,  when  reviewing  my  whole  life,  that  in  any  one 
instance,  by  act,  by  word,  or  by  intention,  I  had  offered 
any  unkindncss,  far  less  any  wrong  or  insult,  towards  a 
brother  author.  I  was  at  a  loss,  therefore,  to  decipher  the 
impulse  under  which  the  malignant  libeller  could  have 
written,  in  making  (as  I  suspected  already)  my  private 
history  the  subject  of  his  calumnies.  Jealousy,  1  have 
since  understood,  jealousy,  was  the  foundation  of  the 
whole.  A  little  book  of  mine  had  made  its  way  into 
drawina-rooms  where  some  book  of  his  had  not  been 
heard  of. 

On  reaching  Smithfield,  I  found  the  publisher  to  be  a 
medical  bookseller,  and,  to  my  surprise,  having  every 
appearance  of  being  a  grave,  respectable  man ;  notwith- 
standing this  undeniable  fiict,  that  the  libellous  journal,  to 
which  he  thought  proper  to  affix  his  sanction,  trespassed 
on  decency,  not  only  by  its  slander,  but,  in  some  in- 
stances, by  downright  obscenity ;  and,  worse  than  that,  by 
prurient  solichations  to  the  libidinous  imagination,  through 
blanks,  seasonably  interspersed.  I  said  nothing  to  him  in 
the  way  of  inquiry  ;  for  I  easily  guessed  that  the  knot  of 
writers  who  were  here  clubbing  their  virus,  had  not  so  ill 
combined  their  plans  as  to  leave  them  open  to  detection 
by  a  question  from  any  chance  stranger.  Having,  there- 
fore, purchased  a  set  of  the  journal,  then  amounting  to 
three  or  four  numbers,  I  went  out ;  and  in  the  elegant 
promenades  of  Smithfield,  I  read  the  lucubrations  of  my 
libeller.  Fit  academy  for  such  amenities  of  literature ! 
Fourteen  years  have  gone  by  since  then;  and,  possibly, 
the  unknown  hound  who  yelled,  on  that  occasion,  among 
this  kennel  of  curs,  may,  long  since,  have  buried  himself 
and  his  malice  in  the  grave.  Suffice  it  here  to  say,  that 
calm  as  I  am  now,  and  careless  on  recalling  the  remem- 


314  LITERAKY    REMINISCENCES. 

brance  of  this  brutal  libel,  at  that  time  I  was  convulsed 
with  wrath.  As  respected  myself,  there  was  a  depth  of 
malignity  in  the  article  which  struck  me  as  perfectly 
mysterious.  How  could  any  man  have  made  an  enemy 
so  profound,  and  not  even  have  suspected  it  ?  That 
puzzled  me.  For,  with  respect  to  the  other  objects  of 
attack,  such  as  Sir  Humphiy  Davy,  &c.,  it  was  clear 
that  the  malice  was  assumed ;  that,  at  most,  it  was  the 
gay  impertinence  of  some  man  upon  town,  armed  with 
triple  Irish  brass  from  original  defect  of  feeling,  and 
willing  to  raise  an  income  by  running  amuck  at  any 
person  just  then  occupying  enough  of  public  interest  to 
make  the  abuse  saleable.  But,  in  my  case,  the  man  flew 
like  a  bull-dog  at  the  throat,  with  a  pertinacity  and 
acharnement  of  malice  that  would  have  caused  me  to 
laugh  immoderately,  had  it  not  been  for  one  intolerable 
wound  to  my  feelings.  These  mercenary  libellers,  whose 
stiletto  is  in  the  market,  and  at  any  man's  service  for  a 
fixed  price,  callous  and  insensible  as  they  are,  yet  retain 
enough  of  the  principles  common  to  human  nature,  under 
every  modification,  to  know  where  to  plant  their  wounds. 
Like  savage  hackney  coachmen,  they  knew  where  there 
is  a  rmo.  And  the  instincts  of  human  nature  teach  them 
that  every  man  is  vulnerable  through  his  female  con- 
nections. There  lies  his  honor  ;  there  his  strength  ;  there 
his  weakness.  In  their  keeping  is  the  heaven  of  his 
happiness  ;  in  them  and  through  them  the  earthy  of  its 
fragility.  Many  there  are  who  do  not  feel  the  maternal  ^ 
relation  to  be  one  in  which  any  excessive  freight  of  honor 
or  sensibility  is  embarked.  Neither  is  the  name  of  sister, 
though  tender  in  early  years,  and  impressive  to  the  fire- 
side sensibilities,  universally  and  through  life  the  same 
magical  sound.  A  sister  is  a  creature  whose  very  pro- 
perty and  tendency  {qua  sister)  is  to  alienate  herself,  not 


LIBELLOUS    ATTACK    BY   A   LONDON    JOURNAL.  315 

to  gather  round  your  centre.  But  the  names  of  icifc  and 
daughter,  these  arc  the  supreme  and  starry  charities  of 
life  :  and  he  who,  under  a  mask,  fighting  in  darkness, 
attacks  you  there,  that  coward  has  you  at  disadvantage. 
I  stood  in  those  hideous  shambles  of  Smithficld  :  upwards 
I  looked  to  the  clouds,  downwards  to  the  earth,  for  ven- 
geance. I  trembled  with  excessive  wrath  —  such  was  my 
infirmity  of  feeling  at  that  time,  and  in  that  condition  of 
health;  and  had  I  possessed  forty  thousand  lives,  all,  and 
every  one  individually,  I  would  have  sacrificed  in  vindi- 
cation of  her  that  was  thus  cruelly  libelled.  Shall  I  give 
currency  to  his  malice,  shall  I  aid  and  promote  it  by 
repeating  it?  No.  And  yet  why  not.?  Why  should  I 
scruple,  as  if  afraid  to  challenge  his  falsehoods?  —  why 
should  I  scruple  to  cite  them  ?  He,  this  libeller,  asserted 
—  But  fuugh! 

This  slander  seemed  to  have  been  built  upon  some  spe- 
cial knowledge  of  me ;  for  I  had  often  spoken  with  horror 
of  those  who  could  marry  persons  in  a  condition  which 
obliged  them  to  obedience  —  a  case  which  had  happened 
repeatedly  within  my  own  knowledge  ;  and  I  had  spoken 
on  this  ground,  that  the  authority  of  a  master  might  be 
supposed  to  have  been  interposed,  whether  it  really  were 
so  or  not,  in  favor  of  his  designs ;  and  thus  a  presumption, 
however  false  it  might  be,  always  remained  that  his  woo- 
ing had  been,  perhaps,  not  the  wooing  of  perfect  freedom, 
so  essential  to  the  dignity  of  woman,  and,  therefore,  es- 
sential to  his  own  dignity ;  but  that,  perhaps,  it  had  been 
favored  by  circumstances,  and  by  opportunities  created,- 
if  it  had  not. even  been  favored,  by  express  exertions  of 
authority.  The  libeller,  therefore,  did  seem  to  have 
some  knowledge  of  my  peculiar  opinions :  yet,  in  other 
points,  either  from  sincere  ignorance  or  from  affectation, 
and  by  way  of  turning  aside  suspicion,  he  certainly  mani- 


316  LITEKAKY    REMINISCENCES, 

fested  a  non-acquaintance  with  facts  relating  to  me 
that  must  have  been  familiar  enough  to  all  within  my 
circle. 

Let  me  pursue  the  case  to  its  last  stage.  The  reader 
will  say,  perhaps,  Why  complain  of  a  paltry  journal  that 
assuredly  never  made  any  noise  ?  for  I,  the  reader,  never 
heard  of  it  till  now.  No,  that  is  very  possible ;  for  the 
truth  is,  and  odd  enough  it  seems,  this  malicious  journal 
prospered  so  little,  that,  positively,  at  the  seventh  No.  it 
stopped.  Laugh  I  did,  and  laugh  I  could  not  help  but 
do,  at  this  picture  of  baffled  malice  ;  writers  willing  and 
ready  to  fire  with  poisoned  bullets,  and  yet  perfectly  unable 
to  get  an  effective  aim,  from  sheer  want  of  co-operation 
on  the  part  of  the  public. 

However,  the  case  as  it  respected  me,  went  farther  than 
it  did  with  respect  to  the  public.  Would  it  be  believed 
that  human  malice,  with  respect  to  a  man  not  even  known 
by  sight  to  his  assailants,  as  was  clear  from  one  part  of 
their  personalities,  finally  —  that  is  to  say,  months  after- 
wards —  adopted  the  following  course  :  —  The  journal  had 
sunk  under  public  scorn  and  neglect;  neglect  at  first, 
but,  perhaps,  scorn  at  the  last;  for,  when  the  writers 
found  tliat  mere  malice  availed  not  to  draw  public  atten- 
tion, they  adopted  the  plan  of  baiting  their  hooks  with 
obscenity ;  and  they  published  a  paper,  professing  to  be 
written  by  Lord  Byron,  called,  '  My  Wedding  Night ; ' 
and  very  possible,  from  internal  evidence,  to  have  been 
really  written  by  him ;  and  yet  the  combined  forces  of 
Byron  and  obscenity  failed  to  save  them  —  which  is  rather 
remarkable.  Having  sunk,  one  might  suppose  the  journal 
was  at  an  end,  for  good  and  evil ;  and,  especially,  that  all, 
who  had  been  molested  by  it,  or  held  up  to  ridicule,  might 
now  calculate  on  rest.  By  no  means  :  First  of  all  they 
made  inquiries  about  the  localities  of  my  residence,  and 


LIBELLOUS    ATTACK    BY    A    LONDON    JOURNAL.         317 

the  town  nearest  to  my  own  family.  Nothing  was  effected 
unless  they  carried  the  insult,  addressed  to  my  family, 
into  the  knowledge  of  that  family  and  its  circle.  My  cot- 
tage in  Grasmere  was  just  280  miles  from  London,  and 
eighteen  miles  from  any  town  whatsoever.  The  nearest 
was  Kendal,  a  place  of  perhaps  16,000  inhabitants  ;  and 
the  nearest,  therefore,  at  which  there  were  any  newspa- 
pers printed.  There  were  two  ;  one  denominated  The 
Gazette  ;  the  other  The  Chronicle.  The  first  was  Tory 
and  Conservative  ;  had  been  so  from  its  foundation  ;  and 
was,  besides,  generous  in  its  treatment  of  private  charac- 
ter. My  own  contributions  to  it  I  will  mention  hereafter. 
The  Chronicle,  on  the  other  hand,  was  a  violent  reforming 
journal,  and  conducted  in  a  partisan  spirit.  To  this  news- 
paper the  article  was  addressed;  by  this  newspaper  it 
was  published  ;  and  by  this  it  was  carried  into  my  own 
'  next-door '  neighborhood.  Next-door  neighborhood  ?  But 
that  surely  must  be  the  veiy  best  direction  these  libellers 
could  give  to  their  malice ;  for  there,  at  least,  the  false- 
hood of  their  malice  must  be  notorious.  Why,  yes :  and 
in  that  which  loas  my  neighborhood,  according  to  the 
most  literal  interpretation  of  the  term,  a  greater  favor 
could  not  have  been  done  me,  nor  a  more  lauchable  hu- 
miliation  for  my  unprovoked  enemies.  Commentary  or 
refutation  there  needed  none  ;  the  utter  falsehood  of  the 
main  allegations  was  so  obvious  to  every  man,  woman, 
and  child,  that,  of  necessity,  it  discredited  even  those 
parts  which  might,  for  any  thing  known  to  my  neighbors, 
have  been  true.  Nay,  it  was  the  means  of  procuring  for 
me  a  generous  expression  of  sympathy,  that  would  else 
have  been  wanting ;  for  some  gentlemen  of  the  neighbor- 
hood, who  were  but  slightly  known  to  me,  put  the  malig- 
nant journal  into  the  fire  at  a  public  reading-room.  So 
far  w^as  well ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  in  Kendal,  a  town 


318  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

nearly  twenty  miles  distant,  of  necessity  I  was  but  imper- 
fectly known  ;  and  though  there  was  a  pretty  general  ex- 
pression of  disgust  at  the  character  of  the  publication,  and 
the  wanton  malignity  which  it  bore  upon  its  front,  since, 
true  or  not  true,  no  shadow  of  a  reason  was  pleaded  for 
thus  bringing  forward  statements  expressly  to  injure  me,  or 
to  make  me  unhappy ;  }' et  there  must  have  been  many, 
in  so  large  a  place,  who  had  too  little  interest  in  the  ques- 
tion, or  too  limited  means  of  inquiry,  for  ever  ascertaining 
the  truth.  Consequently,  in  their  minds,  to  this  hour,  my 
name,  as  one  previously  known  to  them,  and  repeatedly 
before  the  town  in  connection  with  political  or  literary  arti- 
cles in  their  conservative  journals,  must  have  suffered. 

But  the  main  purpose  for  which  I  have  reported  the 
circumstances  of  these  two  cases,  relates  to  the  casuistry 
of  duelling.  Casuistry,  as  I  have  already  said,  is  the 
moral  philosophy  of  cases  —  that  is,  of  anomalous  combi- 
nations of  circumstances  —  that,  for  any  reason  whatso- 
ever, do  not  fall,  or  do  not  seem  to  fall,  under  the  general 
rules  of  morality.  As  a  general  rule,  it  must,  doubtless, 
be  unlawful  to  attempt  another  man's  life,  or  to  hazard 
your  own.  Very  special  circumstances  must  concur  to 
make  out  any  case  of  exception  ;  and  even  then  it  is  evi- 
dent that  one  of  the  parties  must  always  be  deeply  in 
the^vrong.  But  it  does  strike  me,  that  the  present  casu- 
istry of  society  upon  the  question  of  duelling,  is  pro- 
foundly wrong,  and  wrong  by  manifest  injustice.  Very 
little  distinction  is  ever  made,  in  practice,  by  those  who 
apply  their  judgments  to  such  cases,  between  the  man 
who,  upon  principle,  practises  the  most  cautious  self-re- 
straint and  moderation  in  his  daily  demeanor,  never  under 
any  circumstances  offering  an  insult,  or  any  just  occasion 
of  quarrel,  and  resorting  to  duel  only  under  the  most  in- 
sufferable provocation,  between  this  man,  on  the  one  side, 


LIBELLOUS    ATTACK    BT    A    LONDON    JOURNAL.  319 

and  the  most  wanton  rufilan,  on  the  other,  who  makes  a 
common  practice  of  playing  upon  other  men's  feelings, 
whether  in  reliance  upon  superior  bodily  strength,  or  upon 
the  pacific  disposition  of  conscientious  men,  and  fathers 
of  families.  Yet,  surely,  the  difference  between  them 
goes  the  whole  extent  of  the  interval  between  wrong  and 
right.  Even  the  question,  '  Who  gave  the  challenge  ? ' 
which  is  sometimes  put,  often  merges  virtually  in  the 
transcendent  question,  '  Who  gave  the  provocation  ?  ' 
For  it  is  important  to  observe,  in  both  the  cases  which  I 
have  reported,  that  the  onus  of  offering  the  challenge  was 
thrown  upon  the  unoffending  party ;  and  thus,  in  a  legal 
sense,  that  party  is  made  to  give  the  provocation  who,  in 
a  moral  sense,  received  it.  But  surely,  if  even  the  law 
makes  allowances  for  human  infirmity,  when  provoked 
beyond  what  it  can  endure, —  we,  in  our  brotherly  judg- 
ments upon  each  other,  ought,  a  fortiori,  to  take  into  the 
equity  of  our  considerations  the  amount  and  quality  of  the 
offence.  It  will  be  objected  that  the  law,  so  far  from  allow- 
ing for,  expressly  refuses  to  allow  for,  sudden  sallies  of 
anger  or  explosions  of  vindictive  fury,  unless  in  so  far  as 
they  are  extempore,  and  before  the  reflecting  judgment 
has  had  time  to  recover  itself.  Any  indication  that  the 
party  had  leisure  for  calm  review,  or  for  a  cool  selection 
of  means  and  contrivances  in  executing  his  vindictive 
purposes,  will  be  fatal  to  a  claim  of  that  nature.  This  is 
true ;  but  the  nature  of  a  printed  libel  is,  continually  to 
renew  itself  as  an  insult.  The  subject  of  it  reads  this 
libel,  perhaps,  in  solitude  ;  and,  by  a  great  exertion  of 
self-command,  resolves  to  bear  it  with  fortitude  and  in 
silence.  Some  days  after,  in  a  public  room,  he  sees 
strangers  reading  it  also :  he  hears  them  scoffing  and 
laughing  loudly:  in  the  midst  of  all  this,  he  sees  himself 
pointed  out  to  their  notice  by  some  one  of  the  party  who 


3-20  LITERARY    REBIINISCENCES. 

happens  to  be  acquainted  with  his  person ;  and,  possibly, 
if  the  libel  take  that  particular  shape  which  excessive 
malice  is  most  likely  to  select,  he  will  hear  the  name  of 
some  female  relative,  dearer,  it  may  be  to  him,  and  more 
sacred  in  his  ears,  than  all  this  world  beside,  bandied 
about  with  scorn  and  mockery  by  those  who  have  not  the 
poor  excuse  of  the  original  libellers,  but  are,  in  fact, 
adopting  the  second-hand  malignity  of  others.  Such 
cases,  with  respect  to  libels  that  are  quickened  into  popu- 
larity by  interesting  circumstances,  or  by  a  personal  in- 
terest attached  to  any  of  the  parties,  or  by  wit,  or  by 
extraordinary  malice,  or  by  scenical  circumstances,  or  by 
circumstances  unusually  ludicrous,  are  but  too  likely  to 
occur ;  and,  with  every  fresh  repetition,  the  keenness  of 
the  original  provocation  is  renewed,  and  in  an  accelerated 
ratio. 

Again,  with  reference  to  my  own  case,  or  to  any  case 
resembling  that,  let  it  be  granted  that  I  was  immoderately 
and  unreasonably  transported  by  anger  at  the  moment;  — 
I  thought  so  myself,  after  a  time,  when  the  journal  which 
published  the  libel  sank  under  the  public  neglect ;  but 
this  was  an  after  consideration;  and,  at  the  moment,  how 
heavy  an  aggravation  was  given  to  the  stings  of  the  malice, 
by  the  deep  dejection,  from  embarrassed  circumstances 
and  from  disordered  health,  which  then  possessed  me : 
aggravations,  perhaps,  known  to  the  libellers  as  encour- 
agements for  proceeding  at  the  time,  and  often  enough 
likely  to  exist  in  other  men's  cases.  Now,  in  the  case  as 
it  actually  occurred,  it  so  happened  that  the  malicious 
writers  had,  by  the  libel,  dishonored  themselves  too  deeply 
in  the  public  opinion,  to  venture  upon  coming  forward,  in 
their  own  persons,  to  avow  their  own  work ;  but  suppose 
them  to  have  done  so,  (as,  in  fact,  even  in  this  case,  they 
might  have  done,  had  they  not  published  their  intention  of 


LIBELLOUS    ATTACK    BY    A    LONDON    JOURNAL.  321 

driving  a  regular  trade  in  libel  and  in  slander;)  suppose 
them  insolently  to  beard  you  in  public  haunts;  to  cross 
your  path  continually  when  in  company  with  the  very 
female  relative  upon  whom  they  had  done  their  best  to 
point  the  finger  of  public  scorn ;  and  suppose  them  fur- 
ther, by  the  whole  artillery  of  contemptuous  looks,  words, 
gestures,  and  unrepressed  laughter,  to  republish,  as  it 
were,  ratify,  and  publicly  to  apply,  personally,  their  own 
original  libel,  as  often  as  chance  or  as  opportunity  (eagerly 
improved)  should  throw  you  together  in  places  of  general 
resort;  and  suppose,  finally,  that  the  central  figure  —  nay, 
in  their  account,  the  very  butt  throughout  this  entire 
drama  of  malice  —  should  chance  to  be  an  innocent, 
gentle-hearted,  dejected,  suffering  woman,  utterly  un- 
known to  her  persecutors,  and  selected  as  their  martyr 
merely  for  her  relationship  to  yourself — suppose  her, 
in  short,  to  be  your  wife  —  a  lovely  young  woman  sus- 
tained by  womanly  dignity,  or  else  ready  to  sink  into  the 
earth  with  shame,  under  the  cruel  and  unmanly  insults 
heaped  upon  her,  and  having  no  protector  on  earth  but 
yourself:  lay  all  this  together,  and  then  say  whether,  in 
such  a  ca^e,  the  most  philosophic  or  the  most  Christian 
patience  might  not  excusably  give  way ;  whether  flesh 
and  blood  could  do  otherwise  than  give  way,  and  seek 
redress  for  the  past,  but,  at  all  events,  security  for  the 
future,  in  what,  perhaps,  might  be  the  sole  course  open  to 
you  —  an  appeal  to  arms. 

Let  it  not  be  said  that  the  case  here  proposed,  by  way 
of  hypothesis,  is  an  extreme  one  :  for  the  very  argument 
has  contemplated  extreme  cases :  since,  whilst  conceding 
that  duelling  is  an  unlawful  and  useless  remedy  for  cases 
of  ordinary  wrong,  where  there  is  no  malice  to  resist  a 
more  conciliatory  mode  of  settlement,  and  where  it  is 
difficult  to  imagine  any  deliberate  insult  except  such  as  is 

VOL.  II.  21 


322  LITERAKY    REMINISCENCES. 

palliated  by  intoxication  —  conceding  this,  I  have  yet 
supposed  it  possible  that  cases  may  arise,  with  circum- 
stances of  contumely  and  outrage,  growing  out  of  deep 
inexorable  malice,  which  cannot  be  redressed,  as  tilings 
noto  are,  without  an  appeal  to  the  voye  de  fait.  *  But 
this  is  so  barbarous  an  expedient  in  days  of  high  civiliza- 
tion.' Why,  yes,  it  labors  with  the  semi-barbarism  of 
chivalry :  yet,  on  the  other  hand,  this  mention  of  chivalry 
reminds  me  to  say,  that  if  this  practice  of  duelling  share 
the  blame  of  chivalry,  one  memorable  praise  there  is, 
which  also  it  may  claim  as  common  to  them  both.  It  is 
a  praise  which  I  have  often  insisted  on;  and  the  very 
sublime  of  prejudice  I  would  challenge  to  deny  it. 
Burke,  in  his  well  known  apology  for  chivalry,  thus 
expresses  his  sense  of  the  immeasurable  benefits  which 
it  conferred  upon  society,  as  a  supplementary  code  of 
law,  reaching  those  cases  which  the  weakness  of  muni- 
cipal law  was  then  unavailing  to  meet,  and  at  a  price  so 
trivial  in  bloodshed  or  violence  —  he  calls  it  '  the  cheap 
defence  of  nations.'  Yes,  undoubtedly;  and  surely  the 
same  praise  belongs  incontestably  to  the  law  of  duelling. 
For  one  duel  in  esse,  there  are  ten  thousand,  every  day 
of  our  lives,  amid  populous  cities,  hi  posse :  one  challenge 
is  given,  a  myriad  are  feared :  one  life  (and  usually  the 
most  worthless,  by  any  actual  good  rendered  to  society) 
is  sacrificed,  suppose  triennially,  from  a  nation ;  every  life 
is  endangered  by  certain  modes  of  behavior.  Hence, 
then,  and  at  a  cost  inconceivably  trifling,  the  peace  of 
society  is  maintained  in  cases  which  no  law,  no  severity 
of  police,  ever  could  effectually  reach.  Brutal  strength 
would  reign  paramount  in  the  walks  of  public  life ; 
brutal  intoxication  would  follow  out  its  lawless  impulses, 
were  it  not  for  the  fear  which  now  is  always  in  the  rear 
—  the   fear  of  being  summoned   to    a    strict    summary 


LIBELLOTTS   ATTACK   BY   A   LONDON   JOURNAL.         323 

account,  liable  to  the  most  perilous  consequences.  This 
is  not  open  to  denial :  the  actual  basis  upon  which  reposes 
the  security  of  us  all,  the  peace  of  our  wives  and  our 
daughters,  and  our  own  immunity  from  the  vilest  degra- 
dations under  their  eyes,  is  the  necessity,  known  to  every 
gentleman,  of  answering  for  his  outrages  in  a  way  which 
strips  him  of  all  unfair  advantages,  except  one,  (which  is 
not  often  possessed,)  which  places  the  weak  upon  a  level 
with  the  strong,  and  the  quiet  citizen  upon  a  level  with 
the  military  adventurer,  or  the  ruffian  of  the  gambling- 
house.  The  fact,  I  say,  cannot  be  denied  ;  neither  can 
the  low  price  bo  denied  at  which  this  vast  result  is 
obtained.  And  it  is  evident  that,  on  the  principle  of 
expediency,  adopted  as  the  basis  of  morality  by  Paley, 
the  justification  of  duelling  is  complete  :  for  the  greatest 
sum  of  immediate  happiness  is  produced  at  the  least 
possible   sacrifice.*      But   there  are   many  men  of  high 

*  Neither  would  it  be  open  to  Paley  to  plead  that  the  final  or  remotest 
consequences  must  be  taken  into  the  calculation  ;  and  that  one  of  these 
would  he  the  weakening  of  all  moral  sanctions,  and  thus,  indirectly,  aa 
injury  to  morality,  which  might  more  than  compensate  the  immediate 
benefit  to  social  peace  and  security  ;  for  this  mode  of  arguing  the  case 
would  bring  us  back  to  the  very  principle  which  his  own  implicitly,  or  by 
involution,  rejects  :  since  it  would  tell  us  to  obey  the  principle  itself 
without  reference  to  the  apparent  consequences.  By  the  by,  Paley  has 
an  express  section  of  his  work  against  the  law  of  honor  as  a  valid  rule 
of  action;  but,  as  Cicero  says  of  Epicurus,  it  matters  little  what  he 
says  ;  the  question  for  us  is  qiiam  sibi  convcnicnter,  how  far  consistently 
with  himself.  Now,  as  Sir  James  Mackintosh  justly  remarks,  all  that 
Paley  says  in  refutation  of  the  principle  of  worldly  honor  is  hollow  and 
unmeaning.  In  fact,  it  is  merely  one  of  the  commonplaces  adopted  by 
satire,  and  no  philosophy  at  all.  Honor,  for  instance,  allows  you,  upon 
paying  gambling  debts,  to  neglect  or  evade  all  others:  honor,  again, 
allows  you  to  seduce  a  married  woman  :  and  he  would  secretly  insinuate 
that  honor  enjoins  all  this  ;  but  it  is  evident  that  honor  simply  forbears 
to  forbid  all  this  ;  in  other  words,  it  is  a  very  limited  rule  of  action,  not 
applying  to  one  case  of  conduct  in  fifty.  It  might  as  well  be  said,  that 
Ecclesiastical  Courts  sanction  murder,  because  that  crime  lies  out  of 
their  jurisdiction. 


324  LITERARY   REMINISCENCES. 

moral  principle,  and  yet  not  professing  to  rest  upon 
Christianity,  who  reject  this  prudential  basis  of  ethics  as 
the  death  of  all  morality.  And  these  men  hold,  that  the 
social  recognition  of  any  one  out  of  the  three  following 
dangerous  and  immoral  principles,  viz.  —  1st,  That  a 
man  may  lawfully  sport  with  his  own  life  ;  2dly,  That  he 
may  lawfully  sport  with  the  life  of  another  ;  3dly,  That 
he  may  lawfully  seek  his  redress  for  a  social  wrong,  by 
any  other  channel  than  the  law  tribunals  of  the  land  : 
that  the  recognition  of  these,  or  any  of  them,  by  the 
jurisprudence  of  a  nation,  is  a  mortal  wound  to  the  very 
key-stone  upon  which  the  whole  vast  arch  of  morality 
reposes.  Well,  in  candor,  I  must  admit  that,  by  justify- 
ing, in  courts  of  judicature,  through  the  verdicts  of  juries, 
that  mode  of  personal  redress  and  self-vindication,  to  heal 
and  prevent  which  was  one  of  the  original  motives  for 
gathering  into  social  communities,  and  setting  up  an 
empire  of  public  law  as  paramount  to  all  private  exercise 
of  power,  a  fatal  wound  is  given  to  the  sanctity  of  moral 
right,  of  the  public  conscience,  and  of  law  in  its  ele- 
mentary field.  So  much  I  admit ;  but  I  say  also,  that  the 
case  arises  out  of  a  great  dilemma,  with  difficulties  on 
both  sides ;  and  that,  in  all  practical  applications  of 
philosophy,  amongst  materials  so  imperfect  as  men,  just 
as  in  all  attempts  to  realize  the  rigor  of  mathematical 
laws  amongst  earthly  mechanics,  inevitably  there  will 
arise  such  dilemmas  and  ca§es  of  opprobrium  to  the 
reflecting  intellect.  However,  in  conclusion,  I  shall  say 
four  things,  which  I  request  my  opponent,  whoever  he 
may  be,  to  consider ;  for  they  are  things  which  certainly 
ought  to  have  weight ;  and  some  important  errors  have 
arisen  by  neglecting  them. 

First,  Then,  let  him  remember  that  it  is  the  principle  at 
stake  —  viz.,  the  recognition  by  a  legal  tribunal,  as  lawful 


LIBELLOUS  ATTACK  BY  A  LONDON  JOURNAL.  325 

or  innocent  of  any  attempt  to  violate  the  laws,  or  to  take 
the  law  into  our  own  hands :  this  it  is,  and  the  mortal  taint 
which  is  thus  introduced  into  the  public  morality  of  a 
Christian  land,  thus  authentically  introduced ;  thus  sealed 
and  countersigned  by  judicial  authority;  the  majesty  of 
law  actually  interfering  to  justify,  with  the  solemnities  of 
trial,  a  flagrant  violation  of  law ;  this  it  is,  this  only,  and 
not  the  amount  of  injury  sustained  by  society,  which 
gives  value  to  the  question.  For,  as  to  the  injury,  I  have 
already  remarked,  that  a  very  trivial  annual  loss  —  one 
life,  perhaps,  upon  ten  millions,  and  that  life  as  often  as 
little  practically  valuable  as  any  amongst  us  —  that  pays 
our  fine  or  ransom  in  that  account.  And,  in  reality, 
there  is  one  popular  error  made  upon  this  subject,  when 
the  question  is  raised  about  the  institution  of  some  Court 
of  Honor,  or  Court  of  Appeal  in  cases  of  injury  to  the 
feelings,  under  the  sanction  of  Parliament,  which  satis- 
factorily demonstrates  the  trivial  amount  of  injury  sus- 
tained :  it  is  said  on  such  occasions,  that  de  minimis  non 
curat  lex  —  that  the  mischief,  in  fact,  is  too  narrow  and 
limited  for  the  regard  of  the  legislature.  And  we  may 
be  assured  that,  if  the  evil  were  ever  to  become  an 
extensive  one,  the  notice  of  Parliament  soon  loould  be 
attracted  to  the  subject :  and  hence  we  may  derive  a  hint 
for  an  amended  view  of  the  policy  adopted  in  past  ages. 
Princes  not  distinguished  for  their  religious  scruples, 
made  it,  in  different  ages  and  places,  a  capital  offence  to 
engage  in  a  duel :  whence  it  is  inferred,  falsely,  that,  in 
former  times,  a  more  public  homage  was  paid  to  Christian 
principle.  But  the  fact  is,  that  not  the  anti-Christian 
character  of  the  offence  so  much  as  its  greater  frequency, 
and  the  consequent  extension  of  a  civil  mischief  was  the 
ruling  consideration  with  the  lawgiver.  Among  other 
causes   for   this    greater    prevalence    of  duels,  was   the 


326  LITERARY     REMINISCENCES. 

composition  of  armies,  more  often  brought  together  upon 
mercenary  principles  from  a  large  variety  of  different 
nations,  whose  peculiar  usages,  points  of  traditional  honor, 
and  even  the  oddness  of  their  several  languages  to  the 
ear,  formed  a  perpetual  occasion  of  insult  and  quarrel. 
Fluellen's  affair  with  Pistol,  we  may  be  sure,  was  no  rare 
but  a  representative  case. 

Secondly,  In  confirmation  of  what  I  have  said  about 
duelling,  as  the  great  conductor  for  carrying  off  the 
excess  of  angry  irritation  in  society,  I  will  repeat  what 
was  said  to  me  by  a  man  of  great  ability  and  distin- 
guished powers,  as  well  as  opportunities  for  observation, 
in  reference  to  a  provincial  English  town,  and  the  cabals 
which  prevailed  there.  These  cabals  —  some  political, 
arising  out  of  past  electioneering  contests ;  some  muni- 
cipal, arising  out  of  the  corporation  disputes ;  some 
personal,  arising  out  of  family  rivalships,  or  old  tradi- 
tionary disputes  —  had  led  to  various  feuds  that  vexed 
the  peace  of  the  town  in  a  degree  very  considerably 
beyond  the  common  experience  of  towns  reaching  the 
same  magnitude.  How  was  this  accounted  for?  The 
word  tradesman  is,  more  than  even  the  term  middle  class, 
liable  to  great  ambiguity  of  meaning;  for  it  includes  a 
range  so  large  as  to  take  in  some  who  tread  on  the  heels 
even  of  the  highest  aristocracy,  and  some  at  the  other 
end,  who  rank  not  at  all  higher  than  day-laborers  or 
handicraftsmen.  Now,  those  who  ranked  with  gentle- 
men, took  the  ordinary  course  of  gentlemen  in  righting 
themselves  under  personal  insults ;  and  the  result  was, 
that,  amongst  the7ii  or  their  families,  no  feuds  were 
subsisting  of  ancient  standing.  No  ill  blood  was  nursed  ; 
no  calumnies  or  conspicuous  want  of  charity  prevailed. 
Not  that  they  often  fought  duels  :  on  the  contrary,  a  duel 
was  a  very  rare  event  amongst  the  indigenous  gentry  of 


LIBELLOUS   ATTACK   BY  A   LONDON   JOURNAL.         327 

the  place  ;  but  it  was  sufficient  to  secure  all  the  effects  of 
duelling,  that  it  was  known,  with  respect  to  this  class, 
that,  in  the  last  resort,  they  were  ready  to  fight.     Now, 
on  the  other  hand,  the  lowest  order  of  tradesmen  had  their 
method  of  terminating  quarrels  —  the  old  English  method 
of  their  fathers  —  viz.,  by  pugilistic  contests.     And  they 
also  cherished  no  malice  against  each  other  or  amongst 
their  families.     '  But,'  said  my  informant,  *  some  of  those 
who  occupied  the  intermediate  stations  in  this  hierarchy 
of  trade,  found  themselves  most  awkwardly  situated.     So 
far  they  shared  in  the  refinements  of  modern  society,  that 
they  disdained  the  coarse   mode   of  settling  quarrels  by 
their  fists.     On  the  other  hand,  there  was  a  special  and 
peculiar  reason  pressing  upon  this  class,  which  restrained 
them   from  aspiring  to  the  more   aristocratic   modes  of 
fighting.     They  were  sensible  of  a  ridicule,  which  every- 
where attaches  to  many  of  the  less  elevated  or  liberal 
modes  of  exercising  trade  in  going  out  to  fight  with  sword 
and  pistol.     This  ridicule  was  sharpened  and  made  more 
effectual,   in  their  case,  from  the   circumstance    of  the 
Royal  Family  and~  the  Court  making  this  particular  town 
a  frequent  place  of  residence.     Besides  that  apart  from 
the   ridicule,  many  of  them  depended    for  a  livelihood 
upon  the  patronage  of  royalty  or  of  the  nobility,  attached 
to  their  suite ;   and   most   of  these   patrons  would  have 
resented  their  intrusion  upon  the  privileged  ground  of  the 
aristocracy  in  conducting  disputes  of  honor.     What  was 
the    consequence  ?      These    persons,    having   no    natural 
outlet   for  their  wounded   sensibilities,   being   absolutely 
debarred  from  any  mode  of  settling  their  disputes,  cher- 
ished  inextinguishable   feuds :  their  quarrels  in  fact  had 
no  natural  terminations ;    and  the  result  was,  a  spirit  of 
malice  and  most  unchristian  want  of  charity,  which  could 
not  hope  for  any  final  repose,  except  in  death.'     Such 


328  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

was  the  report  of  my  observing  friend :  the  particular 
town  may  be  easily  guessed  at ;  and  I  have  little  doubt 
that  its  condition  continues  as  of  old. 

Thirdly,  It  is  a  very  common  allegation  against 
duelling,  that  the  ancient  Romans  and  Grecians  never 
practised  this  mode  of  settling  disputes  ;  and  the  infer- 
ence is,  of  course,  unfavorable,  not  to  Christianity,  but  to 
us  as  inconsistent  disciples  of  our  own  religion ;  and  a 
second  inference  is,  that  the  principle  of  personal  honor, 
well  understood,  cannot  require  this  satisfaction  for  its 
wounds.  For  the  present  I  shall  say  nothing  on  the 
former  head,  but  not  for  want  of  something  to  say. 
With  respect  to  the  latter,  it  is  a  profound  mistake, 
founded  on  inacquaintance  with  the  manners  and  the 
spirit  of  manners  prevalent  amongst  these  imperfectly 
civilized  nations.  Honor  was  a  sense  not  developed  in 
many  of  its  modifications  amongst  either  Greeks  or 
Romans.  Cudc:ellino;  was  at  one  time  used  as  the 
remedy  in  cases  of  outrageous  libel  and  pasquinade. 
But  it  is  a  point  very  little  to  the  praise  of  either  people, 
that  no  vindictive  notice  was  taken  of  any  possible 
personalities,  simply  because  the  most  hideous  license 
had  been  established  for  centuries  in  tongue  license  and 
unmanly  Billingsgate.  This  had  been  promoted  by  the 
example  hourly  ringing  in  their  ears  of  vernile  scurrility. 
Verna  —  that  is,  the  slave  born  in  the  family  —  had  each 
from  the  other  one  universal  and  proverbial  character  of 
foul-mouthed  eloquence,  which,  heard  from  infancy,  could 
not  but  furnish  a  model  almost  unconsciously  to  those  who 
had  occasion  publicly  to  practise  vituperative  rhetoric. 
What  they  remembered  of  this  vernile  licentiousness, 
constituted  the  staple  of  their  talk  in  such  situations. 
And  the  horrible  illustrations  left  even  by  the  most 
accomplished  and  lita^ry  of  the  Roman  orators,  of  their 


LIBELLOUS   ATTACK    BY   A   LONDON    JOURNAL.        329 

shameless  and  womanly  fluency  in,  this  dialect  of  un- 
licensed abuse,  arc  evidences,  not  to  be  resisted,  of  such 
obtuseness,  such  coarseness  of  feeling,  so  utter  a  defect 
of  all  the  gentlemanly  sensibilities,  that  no  man,  alive  to 
the  real  state  of  things  amongst  them,  would  ever  think 
of  pleading  their  example  in  any  other  view  than  as  an 
object  of  unmitigated  disgust.  At  all  events,  the  long- 
established  custom  of  deluging  each  other  in  the  Forum, 
or  even  in  the  Senate,  with  the  foulest  abuse,  the  prece- 
dent traditionally  delivered  through  centuries  before  the 
time  of  CfEsar  and  Cicero,  had  so  robbed  it  of  its  sting, 
that,  as  a  subject  for  patient  endurance,  or  an  occasion 
for  self-conquest  in  mastering  the  feelings,  it  had  no 
merit  at  all.  Anger,  prompting  an  appeal  to  the  cudgel, 
there  might  be,  but  sense  of  wounded  honor,  requiring  a 
reparation  by  appeal  to  arms,  or  a  washing  away  by 
blood,  no  such  feeling  could  have  been  subdued  or  over- 
come by  a  Roman,  for  none  such  existed.  The  feelings 
of  wounded  honor  on  such  occasions,  it  will  be  allowed, 
are  mere  reflections  (through  sympathetic  agencies)  of 
feelings  and  opinions  already  existing,  and  generally 
dispersed  through  society.  Now,  in  Roman  society,  the 
case  was  a  mere  subject  for  laughter ;  for  there  were  no 
feelings  or  opinions  pointing  to  honor,  personal  honor 
as  a  principle  of  action,  nor,  consequently,  to  wounded 
honor  as  a  subject  of  complaint.  The  Romans  were 
not  above  duelling,  but  simply  not  up  to  that  level  of 
civilization. 

FinaUy,  With  respect  to  the  suggestion  of  a  Court  of 
Honor^  much  might  be  said  that  my  limits  will  not  allow  ; 
but  two  suggestions  I  will  make.  First,  Recurring  to  a 
thing  I  have  already  said,  I  must  repeat  that  no  justice 
would  be  shown,  unless  (in  a  spirit  very  diflerent  from  that 
which   usually  prevails  in  society)  the  weight  of  public 


330  LITERARY  REMINISCENCES. 

indignation,  and  the  displeasure  of  the  court,  were  made 
to  settle  conspicuously  upon  the  aggressor  ;  not  upon  the 
challenger,  who  is  often  the  party  suffering  under  insuf- 
ferable provocation,  (provocation  which  even  the  sternness 
of  penal  law,  and  the  holiness  of  Christian  faith  allow  for,) 
but  upon  the  author  of  the  original  offence.  Secondly, 
A  much  more  searching  investigation  must  be  made  into 
the  conduct  of  the  seconds,  than  is  usual  in  the  unpro- 
fessional and  careless  inquisitions  of  the  public  into  such 
affairs.  Often  enough,  the  seconds  hold  the  fate  of  their 
principals  entirely  in  their  hands  ;  and  instances  are  not  a 
few,  within  even  my  limited  knowledge,  of  cases  where 
murder  has  been  really  committed,  not  by  the  party  who 
fired  the  fatal  bullet,  but  by  him  who,  (having  it  in  his 
power  to  interfere  without  loss  of  honor  to  any  party)  has 
cruelly  thought  fit — [and,  in  some  instances,  apparently 
for  no  purpose  but  that  of  decorating  himself  with  the 
name  of  an  energetic  man,  and  of  producing  a  public 
'•sensation,''  as  it  is  called  —  [a  sanguinary  affair] — to 
goad  on  the  tremulous  sensibility  of  a  mind  distracted 
between  the  sense  of  honor  on  the  one  hand,  and  the 
agonizing  claims  of  a  family  on  the  other,  into  fatal  ex- 
tremities that  might,  by  a  slight  concession,  have  been 
avoided.  I  could  mention  several  instances  ;  but,  in  some 
of  these,  I  know  the  circumstances  only  by  report.  In 
one,  however,  I  had  my  information  from  parties  who 
were  personally  connected  with  the  unhappy  subject  of  the 
affair.  The  case  was  this :  —  A  man  of  distinguished 
merit,  whom  I  shall  not  describe  more  particularly,  be- 
cause it  is  no  part  of  my  purpose  to  recall  old  buried  feuds, 
or  to  insinuate  any  personal  blame  whatsoever  (my  busi- 
ness being  not  with  this  or  that  man,  but  with  a  system 
and  its  principles ;)  this  man,  by  a  step  well  meant,  but 
injudicious,  and  liable  to  a  very  obvious  misinterpretation, 


LIBELLOUS  ATTACK   BY   A   LONDON   JOURNAL.         331 

as  though  taken  in  a  view  of  self-interest,  had  entangled 
himself  in  a  quarrel.  That  quarrel  would  have  been  set- 
tled amicably,  or,  if  not  amicably,  at  least  without  blood- 
shed, had  it  not  been  for  an  unlucky  accident,  combined 
with  a  very  unwise  advice.  One  morning,  after  the  main 
dispute  had  been  pretty  well  adjusted,  he  was  standing  at 
the  fireside  after  breakfast,  talking  over  the  affair  so  far 
as  it  had  already  travelled,  when  it  suddenly  and  most  un- 
happily came  into  his  head  to  put  this  general  question  — 
'  Pray,  does  it  strike  you  that  people  will  be  apt,  on  a 
review  of  this  whole  dispute,  to  think  that  there  has  been 
too  much  talking  and  too  little  doing  ? '  His  evil  genius 
so  ordered  it,  that  the  man  to  whom  he  put  this  question 
was  one  who,  having  no  military  character  to  rest  on, 
could  not  (or  thought  he  could  not)  recommend  those  pa- 
cific counsels  which  a  truly  brave  man  is  ever  ready  to 
suggest  —  I  put  the  most  friendly  construction  upon  his 
conduct  —  and  his  answer  was  this  — '  Why,  if  you  in- 
sist upon  my  giving  a  faithfid  reply,  if  you  ^cill  require 
me  to  be  sincere,  (though  I  really  wish  you  would  not,) 
in  that  case  my  duty  is  to  tell  you,  that  the  world  has  been 
too  free  in  its  remarks  —  that  it  has,  with  its  usual  injus- 
tice, been  sneering  at  literary  men  and  paper  pellets,  as 
the  ammunition  in  which  they  trade  ;  in  short,  my  dear 
friend,  the  world  has  presumed  to  say  that  not  you  only, 

but  that  both  parties,  have  shown  a  little  of '  Yes  ; 

I  know  what  you  are  going  to  say,'  interrupted  the  other, 
'  of  the  ichite  feather.  Is  it  not  so  .?  '  — '  Exactly  ;  you 
have  hit  the  mark  —  that  is  what  they  say.  But  how  un- 
just it  is :  for,  says  I,  but  yesterday,  to  Mr.  L.  M.,  who 
was  going  on  making  himself  merry  with  the  affair,  in  a 

way  that  was  perfectly  scandalous  —  "  Sir,"  says  I,' 

but  this  says  I  never  reached  the  ears  of  the  unhappy 
man  :  he  had  heard  enough  ;  and,  as  a  secondary  dispute 


332  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

was  still  going  on,  that  had  grown  out  of  the  first,  he  seized 
the  very  first  opening  which  offered  itself,  for   provoking 
the  issue   of  a  quarrel.     The  other  party  was  not  back- 
ward or  slack  in  answering  the  appeal ;  and  thus,  in  one 
morning,  the  prospect  was  overcast  —  peace  was  no  longer 
possible ;  and  a  hostile  meeting  was  arranged.     Even  at 
this  meeting,  much    still   remained  in  the   power  of  the 
.seconds:  there  was  an  absolute   certainty  that  all   fatal 
consequences  mightliave  been  evaded,  with  perfect  con- 
sideration for  the  honor  of  both  parties.     The  principals 
must  unquestionably  have   felt  that ;  but  if  the   seconds 
would   not   move  in  that  direction,  of  course  their   lips 
were  sealed.     A  more  cruel  situation  could  not  be  imag- 
ined ;  two  persons,  who  never,  perhaps,  felt  more  than 
that  fiction  of  enmity  which  belonged  to  the  situation,  that 
is  to  say,  assumed  the   enmity  which  society  presumes 
rationally  incident  to  a  certain  position  —  assumed  it  as  a 
point  of  honor,  but  did  not  heartily  feel  it ;  and  even  for 
the  slight  shade  of  animosity  which,  for  half  an  hour,  they 
might  have  really  felt,  had  thoroughly  quelled  it  before  the 
meeting ;  these  two  persons  —  under  no  impulses  whatever, 
good  or  bad,  from  within,  but  purely  in  a  hateful  neces- 
sity of  servile  obedience  to  a  command  from  without  — 
prepared  to  perpetrate  what  must,  in  that  frame  of  dispas- 
sionate  temper,  have   appeared   to   each,    a    purpose  of 
murder,  as  regarded  his  antagonist  —  a  purpose  of  suicide, 
as  regarded  himself.     Simply  a  word,  barely  a  syllable, 
was  needed  from  the  'Friends'  (such  Friends!)   of  the 
parties,   to   have   delivered  them,  with  honor,  from  this 
dreadful  necessity :   that  word  was  not  spoken  ;  and  be- 
cause a  breath,  a  motion  of  the  lips,  was  wanting  —  be- 
cause, in  fact,  the  seconds  were  thoughtless  and  without 
feeling,  one  of  the  parties  has  long  slept  in  a  premature 
grave  —  his  early  blossoms  scattered   to  the  wind  —  his 


LIBELLOUS   ATTACK  BY  A   LONDON   JOURNAL.         333 

golden  promise  of  fruit  blasted  ;  and  the  other  has  since 
lived  that  kind  of  life,  that,  in  my  mind,  he  was  happier 
who  died.  Something  of  the  same  kind  happened  In  the 
duel  between  Lord  Camelford  and  his  friend,  Mr.  Best ; 
something  of  the  same  kind  in  that  between  Colonel  Mont- 
gomery and  Captain  Macnamara.  In  the  former  case,  the 
quarrel  was,  at  least,  for  a  noble  subject;  it  concerned  a 
woman.  But  in  the  latter,  a  dog,  and  a  thoughtless  lash 
applied  to  his  troublesome  gambols,  was  the  sole  subject 
of  dispute.  The  colonel,  as  is  well-known,  a  very  elegant 
and  generous  young  man,  fell;  and  Captain  Macnamara 
had  thenceforwards  a  worm  at  his  heart,  whose  gnawings 
never  died.  He  was  a  post-captain ;  and  my  brother 
afterwards  sailed  with  him  in  quality  of  midshipman. 
From  him  I  have  often  heard  affecting  instances  of  the 
degree  in  which  the  pangs  of  remorse  had  availed,  to 
make  one  of  the  bravest  men  in  the  service  a  mere  panic- 
haunted,  and,  in  a  moral  sense,  almost  a  paralytic  wreck. 
He  that,  whilst  his  hand  was  unstained  with  blood,  would 
have  faced  an  army  of  fiends  in  discharge  of  his  duty,  now 
fancied  danger  in  every  common  rocking  of  a  boat :  he  made 
himself,  at  times,  the  subject  of  laughter  at  the  messes  of 
the  junior  and  more  thoughtless  officers ;  and  his  hand, 
whenever  he  had  occasion  to  handle  a  spy-glass,  shook, 
(to  use  the  common  image,)  or,  rather,  shivered,  like  an 
aspen  tree.  Now,  if  a  regular  tribunal,  authenticated,  by 
Parliament,  as  the  fountain  of  law,  and  by  the  Sovereign, 
as  the  fountain  of  honor,  were,  under  the  very  narrowest 
constitution,  to  apply  itself  merely  to  a  review  of  the  whole 
conduct  pursued  by  the  seconds,  even  under  this  restriction 
such  a  tribunal  would  operate  with  great  advantage.  It 
is  needless  to  direct  any  severity  to  the  conduct  of  the 
principals,  unless  when  that  conduct  has  been  outrageous 
or  wanton  in  provocation :  supposing  any  thing  tolerably 


334  LITERARY  REMINISCENCES. 

reasonable  and  natural  in  the  growth  of  the  quarrel,  after 
the  quarrel  is  once  '  constituted,'  (to  borrow  a  term  of 
Scotch  law,)  the  principals,  as  they  are  called,  with  rela- 
tion to  the  subject  of  dispute,  are  neither  principals,  nor 
even  secondaries  for  the  subsequent  management  of  the 
dispute  :  they  are  delivered  up,  bound  hand  and  foot,  into 
the  hands  of  their  technical  '  friends  ; '  passive  to  the  law 
of  social  usage,  as  regards  the  general  necessity  of  pur- 
suing the  dispute ;  passive  to  the  directions  of  their  sec- 
onds, as  regards  the  particular  mode  of  pursuing  it.  It 
is,  therefore,  the  seconds  who  are  the  proper  objects  of 
notice  for  courts  of  honor;  and  the  error  has  been,  in 
framing  the  project  of  such  a  court,  to  imagine  the  inquiry 
too  much  directed  upon  the  behavior  of  those  who  cease 
to  be  free  agents  from  the  very  moment  that  they  become 
liable  to  any  legal  investigation  whatever :  simply  as 
quarrellers,  the  parties  are  no  objects  of  question ;  they 
are  not  within  the  field  of  any  police  review;  and  the 
very  first  act  which  brings  them  within  that  field,  trans- 
lates the  responsibility  (because  the  free  agency)  from 
themselves  to  their  seconds.  The  whole  questio  vexata, 
therefore,  reduces  itself  to  these  logical  moments,  (to 
speak  the  language  of  mathematics:)  the  two  parties 
mainly  concerned  in  the  case  of  duelling,  are  Society  and 
the  Seconds.  The  first,  by  authorizing  such  a  mode  of 
redress  ;  the  latter,  by  conducting  it.  Now,  I  presume,  it 
will  be  thought  hopeless  to  arraign  Society  at  the  bar  of 
any  earthly  court,  or  apply  any  censure  or  any  investiga- 
tion to  its  mode  of  thinking.  *     To  the  principals,  for  the 

*  If  it  be  asked  by  what  title  I  represent  Society  as  authorizing  (nay, 
as  necessitating)  duels,  I  answer,  that  I  do  not  allude  to  any  floating 
opinions  of  influential  circles  in  society  :  for  these  are  in  continual  con- 
flict, and  it  may  be  difiicult  even  to  guess  in  which  direction  the  pre- 
ponderance would  lie.    I  build  upon  two  undeniable  results,  to  be 


LIBELLOUS   ATTACK   BY   A   LONDON   JOURNAL.        335 

reasons  given,  it  would  be  unjust  to  apply  them  :  and  the 
inference  is,  that  the  seconds  are  the  parties  to  whom  their 
main  agency  should  be  directed  —  as  the  parties  in  whose 
hands  lies  the  practical  control  of  the  whole  affair,  and  the 
whole  machinery  of  opportunities,  (so  easily  improved  by 
a  wise  humanity)  —  for  sparing  bloodshed,  for  promoting 
reconciliation,  for  making  those  overtures  of  accommo- 
dation and  generous  apology,  which  the  brave  are  so 
ready  to  agree  to,  in  atonement  for  hasty  words  or  rash 
movements  of  passion,  but  which  it  is  impossible  for  them 
to  originate.  In  short,  for  impressing  the  utmost  possible 
spirit  of  humanizing  charity  and  forbearance  upon  a  prac- 
tice which,  after  all,  must  for  ever  remain  somewhat  of  an 
opprobrium  to  a  Christian  people  ;  but  which,  tried  by  the 
law  of  worldly  wisdom,  is  the  finest  bequest  of  chivalry, 

anticipated  ia  any  regular  case  of  duel,  and  supported  by  one  uniform 
course  of  precedent :  —  First,  That,  in  a  civil  adjudication  of  any  such 
case,  assuming  only  that  it  has  been  fairly  conducted,  and  agreeably  to 
the  old  received  usages  of  England,  no  other  verdict  is  ever  given  by  a 
jury  than  one  of  acquittal.  Secondly,  That,  before  military  tribunals, 
the  result  is  still  stronger  ;  for  the  party  liable  to  a  challenge  is  not 
merely  acquitted,  as  a  matter  of  course,  if  he  accepts  it  with  any  issue 
whatsoever,  but  is  positively  dishonored  and  degraded  (nay,  even  dis- 
missed the  service,  virtually  under  color  of  a  request  that  he  will  sell 
out)  if  he  does  not.  These  precedents  form  the  current  law  for  English 
society,  as  existing  amongst  gentlemen.  Duels,  pushed  a  Poulrance, and 
on  the  savage  principles  adopted  by  a  few  gambling  ruffians  on  the  Con- 
tinent, (of  which  a  good  description  is  given  in  the  novel  of  The  most  un 
fortunate  Man  in  the  World,)  or  by  old  buccaneering  soldiers  of  Napoleon, 
at  war  with  all  the  world,  and,  in  the  desperation  of  cowardice,  demand- 
ing to  fight  in  a  saw-pit  or  across  a  table, —  this  sort  of  duels  is  as  little 
recognised  by  the  indulgence  of  English  law,  as,  in  the  other  extreme, 
the  mock  duels  of  German  Burschen  are  recognised  by  the  gallantry  of 
English  society.  Duels  of  the  latter  sort  would  be  deemed  beneath  the 
dignity  of  judicial  inquiry  :  duels  of  the  other  sort,  beyond  its  indulgence. 
But  all  other  duels,  fairly  managed  in  the  circumstances,  are  undeniably 
privileged  amongst  non-military  persons,  and  commanded  to  those  who 
are  military. 


336  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

the  most  economic  safety-valve  for  man's  malice,  that 
man's  wit  could  devise ;  the  most  absolute  safeguard  of 
the  weak  against  the  brutal ;  and,  finally,  (once  more  to 
borrow  the  words  of  Burke.)  in  a  sense  the  fullest  and 
most  practical,  '  the  cheap  defence  of  nations ;'  not  in- 
deed against  the  hostility  which  besieges  from  without, 
but  against  the  far  more  operative  nuisance  of  bad  pas- 
sions that  vex  and  molest  the  social  intercourse  of  men, 
by  ineradicable  impulses  from  within. 

I  may  illustrate  the  value  of  one  amongst  the  sugges- 
tions I  have  made,  by  looking  back  and  applying  it  to  part 
of  my  last  anecdote  :  the  case  of  that  promising  person 
who  was  cut  off  so  prematurely  for  himself,  and  so  ruin- 
ously for  the  happiness  of  the  surviving  antagonist.  I 
may  mention,  (as  a  fact  known  to  me  on  the  very  best 
authority,)  that  the  Duke  of  Wellington  was  consulted  by 
a  person  of  distinction,  who  had  been  interested  in  the 
original  dispute,  with  a  view  to  his  opinion  upon  the  total 
merits  of  the  affair,  on  its  validity,  as  a  '  fighting '  quarrel, 
and  on  the  behavior  of  the  parties  to  it.  Upon  the  last 
question,  the  opinion  of  his  Grace  was  satisfactory.  His 
bias,  undoubtedly,  if  he  has  any,  is  likely  to  lie  towards 
the  wisdom  of  the  peace-maker ;  and  possibly,  like  many 
an  old  soldier,  he  may  be  apt  to  regard  the  right  of  pur- 
suing quarrels  by  arms  as  a  privilege  not  hastily  to  be 
extended  beyond  the  military  body.  But,  on  the  other 
question,  as  to  the  nature  of  the  quarrel,  the  duke  denied 
that  it  required  a  duel ;  or  that  a  duel  was  its  natural 
solution.  And  had  the  duke  been  the  mediator,  it  is 
highly  probable  that  the  unfortunate  gentleman  would 
now  have  been  living.  Certainly,  the  second  quarrel  in- 
volved far  less  of  irritating  materials  than  the  first.  It 
grew  out  of  a  hasty  word  and  nothing  more  ;  such  as 
drops  from  parliamentary  debaters  every  night  of  any  in- 


LIBELLOUS   ATTACK   BY    A   LONDON   JOURNAL.         337 

teresting  discussion  —  drops  hastily,  is  as  hastily  recalled, 
or  excused,  perhaps,  as  a  venial  sally  of  passion,  either 
by  the  good  sense  or  the  magnanimity  of  the  party  inter- 
ested in  the  wrong.  Indeed,  by  the  unanimous  consent 
of  all  who  took  notice  of  the  affair,  the  seconds,  or  one 
of  them  at  least,  in  this  case,  must  be  regarded  as  deeply 
responsible  for  the  tragical  issue ;  nor  did  I  hear  of  one 
person  who  held  them  blameless,  except  that  one  who,  of 
all  others,  might  the  most  excusably  have  held  them  wrong 
in  any  result.  But  now,  from  such  a  case  brought  under 
the  review  of  a  court,  such  as  I  have  supposed,  and  im- 
proved in  the  way  I  have  suggested,  a  lesson  so  memora- 
ble might  have  been  given  to  the  seconds,  by  a  two  years' 
imprisonment  —  punishment  light  enough  for  the  wreck  of 
happiness  which  they  caused  —  that  soon,  from  this  single 
case,  raised  into  a  memorable  precedent,  there  would  have 
radiated  an  effect  upon  future  duels  for  half  a  century  to 
come.  And  no  man  can  easily  persuade  me  that  he  is  in 
earnest  about  the  extinction  of  duelling,  who  does  not 
lend  his  countenance  to  a  suggestion  which  would,  at  least, 
mitigate  the  worst  evils  of  the  practice,  and  would,  by 
placing  the  main  agents  in  responsibility  to  the  court, 
bring  the  duel  itself  immediately  under  the  direct  control 
of  that  court ;  would  make  a  legal  tribunal  not  reviewers 
subsequently,  but,  in  a  manner,  spectators  of  the  scene ; 
and  would  carry  judicial  moderation  and  skill  into  the 
very  centre  of  angry  passions ;  not,  as  now  they  act,  in- 
efficiently to  review,  and,  by  implication,  sometimes  to 
approve  their  most  angry  ebullitions,  but  practically  to 
control,  and  repress  them. 

VOL.  II.  22 


N  0  T  E 

WITH   rvEFERENCE  TO  THE  PLAGIARISMS  OP  COLERIDGE. 

[1353.] 

I  HAVE  somewhere  seen  it  remarked  with  respect  to 
these  charges  of  plagiarism,  that,  however  incontroverti- 
ble, they  did  not  come  with  any  propriety  or  grace  from 
myself  as  the  supposed  friend  of  Coleridge,  and  as 
writing  my  sketch  of  slight  reminiscences  on  the  imme- 
diate suggestion  of  his  death.  My  answer  is  this  :  I 
certainly  was  the  first  person  (first,  I  believe,  by  some 
years)  to  point  out  the  plagiarisms  of  Coleridge,  and  above 
all  others  that  circumstantial  plagiarism,  of  v/hich  it  is 
impossible  to  suppose  him  unconscious,  from  Schelling. 
Many  of  his  plagiarisms  were  probably  unintentional,  and 
arose  from  that  confusion  between  things  floating  in  the 
memory  and  things  self-derived,  which  happens  at  times  to 
most  of  us  that  deal  much  with  books  on  the  one  hand, 
and  composition  on  the  other.  An  author  can  hardly 
have  written  much  and  rapidly,  who  does  not  sometimes 
detect  himself,  and  perhaps,  therefore,  sometimes  fail  to 
detect  himself,  in  appropriating  the  thoughts,  images,  or 
striking  expressions  of  others.  It  is  enough  for  his  con- 
scientious self-justification,  that  he  is  anxiously  vigilant  to 
guard  himself  from  such  unacknowledged  obligations, 
and  forward  to  acknowledge  them  as  soon  as  ever  they 
are  pointed  out.  But  no  excess  of  candor  the  most  in- 
dulgent will  allow  us  to   suppose  that  a  most  profound 


340  LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

speculation  upon  the  original  relations  inter  se  of  the  sub- 
jective and  the  objective,  literally  translated  from  the 
German,  and  stretching  over  some  pages,  could,  after 
any  interval  of  years,  come  to  be  mistaken  by  the  transla- 
tor for  his  own.  This  amounted  to  an  entire  essay.  But 
suppose  the  compass  of  the  case  to  lie  within  a  single 
word,  yet  if  that  word  were  so  remarkable,  so  provoca- 
tive to  the  curiosity,  and  promising  so  much  weight  of 
meaning  (which  reasonably  any  great  departure  from 
ordinary  diction  jnust  promise),  as  the  word  ese7nplastic* 
we  should  all  hold  it  impossible  for  a  man  to  appropriate 

*  '  Escmplastic'  —  A  writer  in  '  Biacliwood,'  who  carried  a  wrath 
into  the  discussion  for  which  I  and  others  found  it  hard  to  account, 
made  it  a  sort  of  charge  against  myself,  that  I  had  overlooked  this 
remarkable  case.  If  I  had,  there  would  have  been  no  particular  reason 
for  anger  or  surprise,  seeing  that  the  particular  German  work  in  which 
these  plagiarisms  were  traced,  had  been  lent  to  me  under  most  rigorous 
limitations  as  to  the  time  for  returning  it ;  the  owner  of  the  volume 
was  going  out  of  London,  and  a  very  few  hours  (according  to  my  pres- 
ent remembrance  only  two)  were  all  that  he  could  allow  me  for  hunting 
through  the  most  impracticable  of  metaphysical  thickets,  (what  Cole- 
ridge elsewhere  calls  '  the  holy  jungle  of  metaphysics.')  Meantime  I 
had  not  overlooked  the  case  o(  esemplastic ;  I  had  it  in  my  memory, 
but  hurry  of  the  press,  and  want  of  room,  obliged  me  to  omit  a  good 
deal.  Indeed,  if  such  omissions  constituted  my  reproach,  then  the 
critic  in  '  Blackwood '  was  liable  to  his  own  censure.  For  I  remember 
to  this  hour  several  Latin  quotations  made  by  Sciielling,  and  repeated 
by  Coleridge  as  his  own,  which  neither  I  nor  my  too  rigorous  reviewer 
had  drawn  out  for  public  exposure.  As  regarded  myself,  it  was  quite 
sufBcient  that  I  had  indicated  the  grounds,  and  opened  the  paths,  on 
which  the  game  must  be  sought ;  that  I  left  the  rest  of  the  chase  to 
others,  was  no  subject  for  blame,  but  part  of  my  purpose  ;  and,  under 
the  circumstances,  very  much  a  matter  of  necessity. 

In  taking  leave  of  this  affair,  I  ought  to  point  out  a  ground  of  com- 
plaint against  my  reviewer  under  his  present  form  of  expression,  which 
1  am  sure  could  not  have  been  designed.  It  happened  that  I  had  for- 
gotten the  particular  title  of  Schelling's  work :  naturally  enough  in  a 
situation  where  no  foreign  books  could  be  had,  I  quoted  it  under  a 
false  one.  And  this  inevitable  error  of  mine  on  a  matter  so  entirely 
irrelevant  is  so  described,  that  the  neutral  reader  might  suppose  me 


PLAGIARISMS    OF    COLEKIDGE.  341 

this  word  inadvertently.  I,  therefore,  greatly  understated 
the  case  against  Coleridge,  instead  of  giving  to  it  an 
undue  emphasis.  Secondly,  in  stating  it  at  all,  I  did  so 
(as  at  the  time  I  explained)  in  pure  kindness.  Well  I 
knew  that,  from  the  direction  in  which  English  philo- 
sophic studies  were  now  travelling,  sooner  or  later  these 
appropriations  of  Coleridge  must  be  detected  ;  and  I  felt 
that  it  would  break  the  force  of  the  discovery,  as  an  un- 
mitigated sort  of  police  detection,  if  first  of  all  it  had 
been  announced  by  one  who,  in  the  same  breath,  was 
professing  an  unshaken  faith  in  Coleridge's  philosophic 
power.  It  could  not  be  argued  that  one  of  those  who 
most  fervently  admired  Coleridge,  had  professed  such 
feelings  only  because  he  was  ignorant  of  Coleridge's  ob- 
ligations to  others.  Here  was  a  man  who  had  actually 
for  himself,  unguided  and  unwarned,  discovered  these 
obligations ;  and  yet,  in  the  very  act  of  making  that  dis- 
covery, this  man  clung  to  his  original  feelings  and  faith. 
But,  thirdly,  I  must  inform  the  reader,  that  I  was  not,  nor 
ever  had  been,  the  '  friend '  of  Coleridge  in  any  sense 
which  could  have  a  right  to  restrain  my  frankest  opinions 
upon  his  merits. 

I  never  had  lived  in  such  intercourse  with  Coleridge  as 
to  give  me  an  opportunity  of  becoming  his  friend.  To 
him  I  owed  nothing  at  all :  but  to  the  public,  to  the  body 
of  his  own  readers,  every  writer  owes  the  truth,  and  es- 

to  have  committed  against  Coleridge  the  crime  of  Lauder  against 
Milton  —  that  is,  taxing  him  with  plagiarism  by  referring,  not  to 
real  works  of  Schelling,  but  to  pretended  works,  of  which  the  very 
titles  were  forgeries  of  my  own.  This,  I  am  sure,  my  unknown  critic 
never  could  have  meant.  The  plagiarisms  were  really  there  ;  more  and 
worse  in  circumstances  than  any  denounced  by  myself:  and,  of  all  men, 
the  'Blackwood'  critic  was  the  most  bound  to  proclaim  this  :  or  else 
what  became  of  his  own  clamorous  outcry  ?  Being,  therefore,  such  as 
I  had  represented,  of  what  consequence  was  the  special  title  of  the 
German  volume  to  which  these  plagiarisms  were  referred  ? 


342  LITERARY   REMINISCENCES. 

peclally  on  a  subject  so  important  as  that  which  was  then 
before  me. 

With  respect  to  the  comparatively  trivial  case  of  Pytha- 
goras, an  author  of  great  distinction  in  literature,  and  in 
the  Anglican  Church  has  professed  himself  unable  to  un- 
derstand what  room  there  could  be  for  plagiarism  in  a 
case  where  the  solution  ascribed  to  Coleridge  was  amongst 
the  commonplaces  of  ordinary  English  academic  tuition. 
Locally  this  may  have  been  so ;  but  hardly,  I  conceive,  in 
so  large  an  extent  as  to  make  that  solution  puhlici  juris. 
Yet,  however  this  may  be,  no  help  is  given  to  Coleridge  ; 
since,  according  to  Mr.  Poole's  story,  whether  the  inter- 
pretation of  the  riddle  were  or  were  7iot  generally  diffused, 
Coleridge  claimed  it  for  his  own. 

Finally  —  for  distance  from  the  press  and  other  incon- 
veniences of  unusual  pressure  oblige  me  to  wind  up  sud- 
denly —  the  whole  spirit  of  my  record  at  the  time  (twenty 
years  ago),  and  in  particular  the  special  allusion  to  the 
last  Duke  of  Ancaster's  case,  as  one  which  ran  parallel  to 
Coleridge's,  involving  the  same  propensity  to  appropriate 
what  generally  were  trifles  in  the  midst  of  enormous  and 
redundant  wealth,  survives  as  an  indication  of  the  animus 
with  which  I  approached  this  subject,  starting  even  from 
the  assumption  I  was  bound  to  consider  myself  under  the 
restraints  of  friendship  —  which,  for  the  second  time  let 
me  repeat,  I  was  not.  In  reality,  the  notes  contributed  to 
the  Aldine  edition  of  the  '  Biographia  Literaria,'  by  Cole- 
ridge's admirable  daughter,  have  placed  this  whole  subject 
in  a  new  light  ;  and  in  doing  this,  have  unavoidably 
reflected  some  degree  of  justification  upon  myself  Too 
much  so,  I  understand  to  be  the  feeling  in  some  quarters. 
This  lamented  lady  is  thought  to  have  shown  partialities  in 
her  distributions  of  praise  and  blame  upon  this  subject.  I 
will  not  here  enter  into  that  discussion.     But,  as  respects 


PLAGIARISMS    OF    COLERIDGE.  343 

the  justification  of  her  father,  I  regard  her  mode  of  argu- 
ment as  unassailable.  Filial  piety  the  most  tender  never 
was  so  finely  reconciled  with  candor  towards  the  fiercest 
of  his  antagonists.  Wherever  the  plagiarism  was  unde- 
niable, she  has  allowed  it ;  whilst  palliating  its  fauUiness 
by  showing  the  circumstances  under  which  it  arose.  But 
she  has  also  opened  a  new  view  of  other  circumstances 
under  which  an  apparent  plagiarism  arose  that  was  not 
real.  I  myself,  for  instance,  knew  cases  where  Coleridge 
gave  to  young  ladies  a  copy  of  verses,  headed  thus  — 

'  Lines   on ,  from    the   German   of    Holty.'     Other 

young  ladies  made  transcripts  of  these  lines  ;  and,  caring 
nothing  for  the  German  authorship,  naturally  fathered 
them  upon  Coleridge,  the  translator.  These  lines  were 
subsequently  circulated  as  Coleridge's,  and  as  if  on  Cole- 
ridge's own  authority.  Thus  arose  many  cases  of  appa- 
rent plagiarism.  And,  lastly,  as  his  daughter  most  truly 
reports,  if  he  took  —  he  gave.  Continually  he  fancied 
other  men's  thoughts  his  own ;  but  such  were  the  confu- 
sions of  his  memory,  that  continually,  and  with  even 
greater  liberality,  he  ascribed  his  own  thoughts  to  others. 

[  ADUITIONAL.] 

An  important  oversight  occurs  in  this  long  final  note  upon 
Coleridge's  plagiarisms.  The  solution  of  the  Pythagorean 
dark  saying  about  beans,  (concerning  the  appropriation  of 
which  by  Coleridge  such  varied  opinions  have  been  pro- 
nounced,) does  not  need  to  be  sought  in  German  editions 
of  Pythagoras,  nor  in  the  traditions  of  academic  tuition : 
it  is  to  be  found  in  Plutarch.  An  hour  or  two  after  I  had 
sent  off  this  final  note  to  the  press,  [distant  unfortunately 
seven  miles,  and  accessible  only  by  a  discontinuous  or 
zigzag  line  of  communications,]   I  remembered  from   a 


344  LITERARY   REMINISCENCES. 

foot-note  on  Jeremy  Taylor's  '  Holy  Living,'  the  follow 
ing  reference  to  Plutarch ;  which  the  bishop  has  choser 
(against  his  usual  practice)  to  give  in  Latin  rather  than  h 
Qi-eek  :  —  '  Fahis  abstine,''  dixit  Pythagoras,  '  olim  enim 
magistratus  per  suiTragia  fahis  lata  creabantur.'  Abstain 
from  beans,  said  Pythagoras,  for  in  former  times  magiste- 
rial offices  were  created  through  suffrages  conveyed  by 
beans. 


END    OF   VOL.    II. 


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